The Demon I Cling To
by burntheheart
Summary: Post1x03!AU. J/M. Molly is abducted and recruited into the House of "M". A/N: ON HIATUS/06.12 Apologies. Be back in business shortly.
1. Section I: Chapter 1

**an: **

**Anything you recognize is not mine. The inspiration for the title/story comes from "Judas - Lady Gaga." Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>Section I<p>

**"The House of M".**

**The Demon I Cling To**

_"Oh I'm just a holy fool, oh baby it's so cruel_

_But I'm still in love with Judas baby." _

* * *

><p>Rain water was leaking through Molly Hooper's flat as she fumbled with her shoes – a phone sandwiched between her head and shoulder. Looping the straps, she hopped towards the various buckets that had been positioned beneath the hole in her roof and grumbled as it dawned on her how swiftly they were filling up. "I'll be there in twenty, Sarah – just…"<p>

'_Molly_,' a voice soothed her from the other line, _'You haven't slept properly for ages… please just don't visit today…' _

Clutching a few spare pots and pans from her kitchen cupboard, Molly faked a stiff laugh, "No," she chuckled, "I'm perfectly fine… for visiting… I promise." Pulling a red bucket, she quickly swapped it with her stew-making pot and breathed a sigh of relief as not a drop latched onto the carpet.

'_If you're sure_.' The voice pronounced.

"I'm sure." The clear, silver reflection of the container caught Molly's eye and fixated her attention on the pale-faced, weak woman that seemed to look back at her. A hand stroked her cheek as she tried her best to detain a soft, barren whimper at the sight. She wasn't fine. In fact, she wasn't sure the last time she _had _slept properly but she needed to visit them.

Rubbing a stray tear that had somehow seeped past the corner of her eye, she muttered something about her make-up being ruined (although she wore none) and quickly made for the door. Pulling her hair up into an immediate bun, she was stopped when she felt the vibration in her hand.

Glancing down at it, she took it as Sarah once _more _making sure she was well enough to attend to Sherlock and John – but it wasn't her.

As large, hazel eyes stared at the glowing screen – a knock reverberated from the other side of her wooden door. The sound was heavy and loud - but also familiar.

It was their 'secret knock'; an idea hatched from when Molly had been young – to make sure that people of significance were the only ones to ever step through her door. Of course, it turned out that not many did walk through her doorway and…

Oh god.

_From: __

_Open the door, Mollybear._

_xxxxxxxxx_

Chills trembled through her as she dropped the phone in shock. "No," she swore scratching her head as she paced up and down – the rhythm of the familiar knock in her head, "No…" (_Murderer… your Jim…Molly…murderer…) _She must not open the door; under any circumstance. (_No…John…he can't…he's not…he's my Jim…) _Flashes of the two, frail bodies in the hospital flared in her mind and she felt nausea waver through her like an incessant tide.

John had woken up after a few days; weak and barely able to heave his own chest, he had told her a brief story before he slipped back into unconsciousness. The whole time, Molly had been stilled from shock. Trauma. _(My Jim… not my…not him…) _But seeing them, she knew how foolish she had been for trusting the charming employee from the IT department.

The man she had used for relief from her swollen loneliness - the adorable man who had somehow purchased her heart in the process.

He was a killer; she knew it was only time before it was her turn to get hurt.

Attempting to stop herself from crying as she stood, heart beating, staring at the door (the knocks had stopped) – Molly shook as another message appeared. The carpet beneath her vibrated and – petrified – she picked the phone up and gazed down at the shimmering letters waving across the screen:

_From: __

_I know you're in there!_

_xxxxx_

A bare second later:

_From: __

_Don't make me come and get you._

The sudden abruptness of the words made Molly choke and before she could help it, she had stumbled forwards and gripped the door handle. Suddenly, it was the point of no return and the only way to move was forwards. Turning the metal object, she pulled it. It all seemed to take eternity before the door finally opened wholly and the sight of Jim 'Davison' from IT stole her gaze.

Of course, it was not Jim Davison from IT at all; gone was his hair, his clothes… He was holding an umbrella, grinning, in a bluntly expensive suit. The demon beneath all she had adored.

He looked perfectly at ease; a murderer… a maniac…and loving it. Molly wanted to throw up. She knew what he was now - but what she didn't know was what to do with _Jim Moriarty. _She had thrown the door open for him.

And damn it to hell, she knew now that she should have ran while she could.

"I thought I was going to have to come get you!" He chuckled; this forcing a deafening daze of unease to sweep through her as she forced her eyes away from him.

He looked so different now. His face was the same - every feature identical. But he wasn't _Jim _anymore. The once handsome face she had fawned over was now an emblem of pure, burning hatred. Of fear.

"What are you doing here?" She mumbled, face already blank with dread.

A small, teasing pout appeared on his lips- almost like he was "disappointed".

"Not even a _hello _then?" He murmured, bowing his head softly, "My, _my_ dear Molly. How have you changed..."

"Leave m-me alone, Jim." She pleaded, smelling the rain and feeling the dread swell as she realized how intensely he was staring.

How different it all seemed not very long ago. The stare that once made her so self-conscious was now the stare that was making her wither in dread.

"_Leave me alone, Jim_," He mocked, brown eyes – gleaming – "C'mon, Mollybear. Don't tell me you're mad at me too… _everyone _seems to be mad at Jim nowadays…" The way he talked... it was so taunting.

Like he was singing a song.

"Just go." She could see his eyes - devouring every whimper. Taking victory from her pain. The wreckage of his crime - the two bodies fighting in hospital came into her mind and only fear kept her breathing.

"Go where?" Jim inquired hotly, before smirking, "Don't tell me you haven't missed me."

"I - I haven't." She answered, chest trembling.

"_Oh_? I find that difficult to believe, love."

_(You're scaring me, Jim_) Molly could remember that one time she was given a chance to _see _his temper; that one little twitch of fate when she had walked into the bathroom and he was on the phone with someone. He had been flustered - swearing - even reverted to some foreign lingo. And when he realized she was listening - he had lashed out vehemently to shut the door.

She had dismissed it at the time; "everyone had a temper" - her mind said.

She couldn't answer him. He knew it very well.

"C'mon," the smirk somehow found room to widen, "Cuddling in rainy afternoons. Remember?"

His voice; it made her skin crawl. Yet equally, every syllable was almost a whine of pleasure.

"Please…" Molly choked, barely restraining her sobs as she eyed him, "Jim… you're a..." Her words died in her mouth as he started to laugh again.

"A – a what?" Jim questioned, eyes narrowing as he inclined his head. Glowering at her, his expression seemed to change as he sprung up his umbrella.

Her eyes could barely move as she found herself lost for words.

"Tell me later, yes?" Jim cocked an eyebrow – an innocent habit – and hopped back off her doorstep, "Now first… we've got a birthday to celebrate…"

Still holding her phone, Molly found herself with a chance. Discreetly, she kept her eyes on him as her fingers located the 'call' button on her phone.

But she wasn't clever enough.

Jim just giggled at her efforts.

"Nu-_uh_," He scolded her childishly, expressing a wink, "Naughty, Molly. What do you think you're doing with that?"

Before she knew it the phone was seized from her hand and was now embraced in his thin fingers.

"Jim," she begged again.

"It's my birthday, love," He crooned, eyeing her every move with a whirr of ridicule, "Have you forgotten?"

Jim quirked his head, absorbing her expression sweetly,

"Don't tell me you have! I'll be _bitterly _disappointed," he continued, "I have... been _so _looking forward to it."

Of course she hadn't. It was here when she found herself with the declaration of his purpose. Why he was here. _(Monster… he's a monster… run…Molly…run…)_

"Come with me, Molly."

His voice was balanced; but clearly there was no evasion.

"No." She tried her best to muster up as much courage in that one word but her tries failed pathetically.

Jim noticed and fed on it. He laughed – his face screwed up into a nauseatingly amused expression. When it faded – all that was left was a sick, sallow smile.

(_He has a beautiful smile… Molly would wake up giggling about it…)_

"Molly bear - you always knew how to make _wittle me _laugh."

He cooed as he strode forwards and captured her arm in a swift, flawless motion. Molly barely had time to shriek as she was dragged down her doorstep, shaded by the umbrella he held. When it dawned on her that she was being abducted, she struggled against his stony grip and screamed.

He just laughed at her efforts.

She stopped instantly knowing he was just gobbling it up for ammunition. His grasp was painful; but nothing hurt her more than the desolate tears scraping past her cheeks.

_(Yes…Lucy…I know… I think Jim is the one you know… he's just…perfect)_

"You're a p-psycho," she spat as he kicked down her small, wooden gate.

"P'shaw," He taunted, "You know I'm everything but that, _sweetie._" The word fell from his lips like grit. She resisted (tried very hard to) but failed; there was no strength left in here. She had been attacked at the perfect time – she was too weak.

Too tired.

"Don't be a little _bitch_,"

Molly squeezed her eyes shut – hindering the tears – as she felt his simmering breath down her neck. His lips were to her ears, words uttered with slow, brazen menace, "_walk_ properly…Molly… that's right…"

Animatedly, she did what he said. As they progressed down the pavement, he released her arm– hand sliding down to take her hand instead. Repressing a sob, she felt her fingers entangle in his subconsciously – the smile that instantly graced his face suggested the gratification that one little movement had given him.

He knew that she still thought of him; now he could be certain that a little part of her still clung on to him like an infection.

Now they looked like a couple. It was sick.

Frigidly, Molly glanced up at him, the sound of the rain filling their silence.

"Are you going to hurt me?"

"It's my birthday, remember," he 'tutted' at her with a childish air, "_why _would I hurt you Mollybear?"

"Stop calling me that." She breathed – only to be rebuked by his grip suddenly tightening so harshly around her hand that she had to gasp in pain. Tears began to fall again as she managed a, "P-Please…s-stop…" and the grip relaxed.

Silence again.

Why did he need her? He didn't; that was why Molly was convinced that she was going to die. Her gaze fleeted across the part of her arm where he had grabbed her – it was sore and throbbing. Clearly, nothing passed by him as he noticed her glancing at it instantly.

"Sorry about that love," an awkward, apologetic smile formed on his face as he eyed her, "but you could have been _good _and I wouldn't have done that to you."

"Let me go, Jim," Molly attempted again, "Please let me go."

She could see it again - the insanity that dwelled beneath his eyes as he spoke.

"And miss my birthday show? Don't be silly."

"Please," the word was barely audible as something occurred in her head. They crossed the road, hand-in-hand and Molly lifted her head, "I'm under surveillance…Jim," she told him dutifully, "Sherlock's brother."

After the events – everyone connected to Sherlock had been beneath supervision.

"Oh?"

And just then, Jim gestured towards a large, black _BMW _just by his left. It was parked two houses down her own and she recognized it as the car that had been following her to work. A glimmer of hope flared within her but it soon died as the large, red stain on the window of the driver seat came into view. It was messy and disgorged – but it was real. _Dead… dead…_

Now, she most definitely had nothing.

_(Jim is so thoughtful… always so smart and thinks ahead…)_

"Oh…god." An urge to vomit suddenly cultivated inside of her as they paused their walk.

"They've not been the only ones watching, Molly."

"They're - you -you -" Her lips were shaking as she uttered the long, blood-curdling word, "_killed _them?"

"Disposed," the man beside her dictated impassively with a soft shrug, "Killed is such a _filthy _word. Don't you think?"

Her face was white as she struggled to breathe, "C-Christ..."

Jim merely tipped his head, perusing,

"Oh yes... _shame _really. Nice blokes." He nodded before grinning again, "Driver's got _quite _a fist on him... but I took care of that."

Molly wasn't sure how she was managing to stay upright and as if on cue her knees wobbled. She found her balance fading and her legs buckled - Jim observed the change quite swiftly and merely 'hmmd', holding her up.

"When was the last time you ate, Mollybear?" Jim clucked, shaking his head in reprimand as he eyed her pale features.

A cry escaped her lips as his grip on her hand tightened again; she had to clench her jaw to stop herself from screaming.

"Now come on… we've got a matinee to catch…" He said - sounding the least bit impatient.

Barely comprehensible, Molly let herself be lead along, eyes wide and terrorized.

"I have missed you." Jim retorted from beside her as a grey coloured car pulled up from nowhere and sidled up by the pavement they were walking.

"Jim – please," Molly's hand was cramping when he finally discharged it, "Please…I won't say anything… just let me go."

"Oh, I can't do that, love," His accent was silky; voice smooth, "I've already booked our tickets… now hop on and be a _good _girl. Okay?"

She tried. Molly _tried. _She let out one last yelp and lashed out against him but it was all worthless in the end. Jim only had to press his lips together, grit his teeth and give her shoulders one long shove.

Before she knew it, she was inside the car sobbing.

"Oh, Mollybear," Jim entered the car, welcomed by the sound of her cries as he positioned himself on the front seat, "... you _know _how I hate it when you cry."

She didn't stop. The car's engine began and through the blurry haze of her tears, Molly watched as Jim's fingers located the CD player at the front and slowly turned to volume wheel to full volume.

Numbly, she sat. Her terrifying ordeal, serenaded and mocked by the sound of Glee's _Don't Stop Believing._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Molly kept silent throughout the car journey. Jim had sat at the front – adjusting the mirror every so often (just to make sure she could see his smugly grinning face at all times) – and had spent the time humming to the never ending loop of the Glee cover. He would laugh sometimes – coldly and humourlessly – and then nudge the driver to coax a giggle out of him too.

It made Molly queasy and she was surprised she had managed to detain any vomit from emptying out of her stomach. She was petrified; her hands were still shaking and her arm was now inflamed and blotching. Somehow, the fear had made her will stronger and she had handled herself well enough to refrain from sobbing any more than she had. She was just silent now. Her head was bowed and she lay quivering – almost like…

Almost like she was awaiting execution.

"Smile," she heard Jim cluck from the front of the car, "We're almost there…Molly."

His voice was so soothing that she found herself lost for thought. Damn her. _Damn _her. This was all her fault – it must be. She shouldn't have ever… ever allowed herself to be swallowed in this. She should have run away. Done the smart thing and escaped. Now she was here and she had no idea what she was in for.

What did she do? _Why _was this happening to her?

Everyone must think she was late; no-one was going to ever know about this.

No-one was ever going to know that she died.

A slightly sharp intake of breath caused an overwhelming amount of tears to fill her eyes. As if on a running cue, the car stopped. She glanced up and brushed the tears off quickly and had to blink twice as she realized where they were – or rather the theatre this alley belonged to:

_Les Miserables_

Jim seemed to have observed her reaction quite wholly.

"I told you," he said with a small 'tsk' with his lips, "_matinee _to catch… grab that coat beside you, darling. Don't want you getting sick now."

Molly pivoted in her seat and glanced at the cream coloured coat that was folded neatly on her left side. She took it and almost wanted to be sick into it right away but delayed herself. Surely, he wasn't being serious. _(I've always liked Les Miserables, Jim… I've never seen it… have you?) _Realizing her door had been pulled open, Molly – with a wheeze – snatched the coat and weakly disembarked.

He was standing outside, smiling to greet her.

"Put on the coat," Jim murmured as he inclined his head, eyeing her every flinch, "the rain's stopped… but we can never be _too_ careful."

"Is there a bomb in it?" Molly asked pathetically as she examined it herself. Painfully, it looked normal.

Jim laughed at her accusation,

"No," he denied, laughter withering into a slow, grave mumble, "I booked _two _tickets. Why waste?"

Molly did as she was told. Adjusting the buttons with quaking fingers made the whole process slow and humiliating. He loved it, of course. She finished and smoothed the front out. Chillingly, she lifted her head.

He was smiling at her, approvingly. Molly hated it – how she couldn't read him. She supposed she could never read people in the first place (after all, she had fawned over Sherlock Holmes for so _bloody _long and never took the flirting as his form of rejection) but there was something about Jim that made him confusing.

Frustrating.

But she supposed that he was a serial killer; that was what they did.

"Don't look so worried," Jim stated with a furrowed brow, "_Worry _lines, remember?"

She had told him that.

Molly stayed silent and simply stared. He stared back – and then broke the lapse of silence with another one of his sombre chuckles. She was beginning to wish that she was deaf; so she never had to be treated to one of his dour laughs.

"Now come on." He stepped forward.

She stepped back. He laughed again.

Jim growled and grabbed her arm as he had done before rendering her powerless. Molly squirmed for a second – but stopped instantly. She allowed him to heave her down the alley – what she didn't allow him was the gratification that it _hurt. _That it hurt so… _fucking _much. She kept silent; perfectly poised. Molly inhaled the pain like air. Because she knew that he was one of those people.

People that fed on other people's suffering. Of _course _he was one of them. It only made sense – and she couldn't consent to any more of herself being degraded. This was enough – he could do what he wanted.

Blow her up; whatever.

She was surrendering.

Everything seemed meaningless after him anyway. Yes, it was making her wince – yes, it was making things worse. But it was _true. _Despite the fact that Jim 'Davison' had only been a miniscule point in her life – he made her life purposeful. Made her lonely, _miserable _life somewhat bearable. He was a friend and… although he had been no Sherlock – Jim had been enough for her.

And now here she was – kidnapped and metaphorically gagged.

His hold on her arm seemed weaker. Molly didn't know if that was just the numbness in her arm or he sensed her submission. Either way, she said nothing. Her lips remained pressed and her eyes remained cold. She allowed him the satisfaction of knowing he had won.

Of knowing that he had hurt her in more ways than he could ever have imagined.

* * *

><p>He had been serious. Reducing the woman behind the desk into a garbling mess, Jim had booked them two stalls tickets for the matinee show. Molly had eyed the display with disgust; eyes flickering as she realized how much the woman had resembled her. How easy it was for Jim to melt women through his fingers. He was a good actor though – damn, was he. They were posing as Mr &amp; Mrs. Fawley – Molly had felt his grip tighten on her arm when he introduced her to the desk lady. Obediently, Molly had smiled and said hello.<p>

They then bypassed the bar and into their seats. Molly had sat, still expecting for some massive show –not believing this gag for a moment. When he had unclasped his digging fingers from her skin, she had snapped her head around gazing for possible accomplices. She saw none.

"Calm down," Jim murmured from beside her as he shifted in his seat, "Just enjoy the show, Mollybear."

Calm down? Molly could have strangled him.

Fear had turned to loathing.

"Why are you doing this to me, Jim?" She asked, trying her best to be sweet as she sunk deeper and deeper into her chair.

There was no answer. She watched the orchestra practice for a few moments – memories of how much she would have enjoyed this show flashed through her head. She had memorized every song here… knew every character… and yet never had the time to see it for real. Molly was once again reminded of how much her old life had sucked. How sad was that that you knew every song to a musical you had never seen?

"Just enjoy, Molly."

They were too close together; she could smell him. Clean and fresh.

"Is that meant to be serious?" She asked, nails curling into her palms as she gnashed her teeth to prevent crying, "Are _you _serious?"

"It's my _birthday_," The man then whined, smile tugging at his lips, "Don't be such a…spoilsport."

Molly was silenced. She just eyed him – watching the gleam in his eyes and trying not to be allured by it all. She was certain now; he was crazy. Insane. Absolutely, in divine – crazy. Her hand rested on the arm chair as she continued to look at him. Trying her best not to just lash out at him – scream at everyone that he had kidnapped her and was going to _kill _her.

He must have seen that outcome somewhere in his vulgar, morally incorrect mind. And he must have predicted that she wouldn't do such a thing. Because she really couldn't – she couldn't _push _herself to do it.

He was staring at the stage now.

"I've watched this show before," he mused, as if remembering the exact picture, "Did I ever tell you that?"

"No," Molly murmured, "There was a lot… you didn't tell me Jim."

He laughed. This time with a notch more feeling. "I did…" He continued, leaning back with his head and swallowing, "I liked it." She still couldn't read him; Molly pursed her lips and sighed,

"Why?" She mumbled, "Because they all pretty much die?"

Jim was grinning now; expression swirling with pure, sickly-sweet amusement.

"Oh, Mollybear," he cooed, patting her arm causing it to tremble again, "You know your Jimmy… _too _well."

All she could do was shudder in dread at his words. She turned away. People were ushering by her into their own seats; Molly couldn't help but feel sick as she realized how oblivious they all were. That they were bearing witness to a kidnapping. A possible _murder. _Palely, she tried to retain at least a fraction of her composure. As the theatre hands reminded everyone about mobile phones - as the lights dimmed - Molly sat, frozen.

Never once sharing a glance with the demon that sat beside her.

"There's no need to be afraid, Molly," Jim growled in her ear ardently, "_why _would I be _naughty _on my birthday?"

Molly said nothing, deciding to suffer in her silence.

* * *

><p>Faintly, Molly realized that the show had ended. The whole show sped by her - three hours laced with terror and paranoia. She had expected for someone to <em>blow up<em> - blood, at least. But the last of the cast bowed and the curtains fell. There was a customary round of _"wow that was lovely" _and sniffs from the old women who cried at the end every time they saw it - and just like that, Molly was once more unsure of what her fate was. Was she going to die? _Was he going to kill her now_? What was the point of this?

Sick to the point of fainting, Molly found herself standing up. Jim was still beside her - he never left. Guarded her throughout. She had spent the whole show shivering - jumping at every strike of the orchestra. When tears had fallen from her eyes, it had been from terror - not from the emotion of the show that she barely could remember. The whole thing had been torturous; the silence, the music. The acting. The constant, never-ending feeling that someone was going to jump behind her back and kill her. It was a mock execution. The whole thing. And Jim knew it.

He had tormented her the whole period, just by acting normal. Clapped when he needed to. Even gave the cast a standing ovation. Jim had _jumped _around proclaiming how he had nothing to hide. He was untouchable; now, she was sure.

"Sweetie," Jim told her, "did you not like it?"

Molly remained silent as she followed him out of the theatre. Her skin felt icy as they disbanded from the crowd of people and Jim pulled her to the side. She found herself blinking coldly as Jim's face devoured her view.

"Drink," a wash of _false_ concern fell over the Irish man's face as he offered her the bottled water, "please."

She hadn't wanted to; but Molly retrieved the drink and allowed the cold, tasteless liquid quell the sickness in her throat. It didn't work - the nausea remained and she found herself glancing away. Jim was smiling again; he took the bottle and brushed rough fingers against her cheek. She shuddered and recoiled against his touch.

"Let's go," the teasing smile remained as Molly's hand was taken, "_come_ on, Molly. _Smiiiiile _for me... it was good yes? Did you like the part with the war? That was always my favourite..."

"Please, stop talking." Molly gasped, as she was lugged to the door. Her head throbbed as Jim's eyes narrowed at her - the genuine menace making an appearance beneath dark hues.

"Ah, my little _poppet _talks," he mused, "you never did keep quiet for long."

They were descending down the theatre steps and walking down the back pavement towards the alley. It was very late in the afternoon and due to the weather, the outside was dark. The perfect camouflage. Realizing she was returning to the alley, Molly squealed and tugged her arm away from his grasp. The faintness in her face remained as suddenly - he released her. She almost collided with the metal fence as she staggered backwards, arm sore and throbbing. He had released her - it hadn't been her attempts to be free that had liberated her in the end. Molly glanced up at him, a little confused but taking this as a _final _ultimatum; a final plead for her life. For what was to happen to her.

"Tell me where we're going!" she gasped, "_tell me now_!"

Jim was watching her; clearly, amused. He placed his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders.

"Ah," he answered, "but why _spoil _it?"

Molly couldn't help but feel like her nausea was swelling as she closed her fists and attempted to stop swaying. There was a piercing in her head - a breath of pain slipped from her lips as she shook it off,

"Just... tell me if you're going to _kill _me, Jim," Molly pleaded, lips quivering, "_please_, tell me something."

"Tsk," Jim shrugged his shoulders again, before tipping his chin upwards, "I think that's enough chitchat, now Mollybear. _Let's _go."

"No!" the brunette murmured, struggling to keep her eyes open - _what's happening? my head h-hurts- _"I... I won't go..." A hand began to caress her forehead as she felt her legs weaken. Molly almost stumbled but remained standing upright as she tried to make sense of what he had just said. He was going to kill her.

Of course. It was the only outcome.

"C'mooooooon, Molly," she could hear Jim sing from across her - although his voice was beginning to seem further away, "I'm giving you a lift here, love!"

"You're a b-bastard!" Molly managed to shriek as the pain began to hit her - waves and waves of discomfort. It wasn't even nausea anymore... it was agony... "_tell _me something!"

Jim's face gave nothing away. "Shhh," he uttered, "someone might hear you, Mollybear."

"Stop it!" she shouted again, feeling like her legs were going somewhat numb, "...stop... acting... like this... is... game...stop...Jim..." She was breathless. _Am I still breathing?_

"A game? Not at all, love," Jim swayed innocently, "what gave you _that _impression?"

He was pouting. Molly could feel her insides roar in disgust as she shook her head,

"I said _stop _it! Tell me... tell me..." Her lips... they were quaking too much to form words, "t-t-tell..." She couldn't make sense of it. There was something else - _what did I do?_

The man across her, stood watching. Molly was so busy, stumbling that she hadn't realized he had closed their distance by a few steps.

"Molly?" He quipped innocuously, "_are _you okay, love? You don't _look _so good..."

"Get... from..." she could feel her balance dancing, "leave... don't..."

"Look at you..." Jim continued, "you're as pale as a feather, _darling_..."

And that was when she felt it. Jim's tough grasp accompanying her once more. Molly was feeling sick. But most of all, she felt fatigue. She felt tired. Almost -

_Sleepy._

"I knew you were going to be _difficult_," she felt Jim's hoarse breath mutter against her ear as he dragged her feverishly down the path, "good thing I always came prepared no?"

And then she was hit with the realization.

That bottle. The drink. Molly had lost control of most of her body. She was unable to keep her head up as she struggled to keep conscious; the one memory in her mind was the feel of that cold, liquid - it hadn't tasted much like water, but what did water taste like? She shouldn't have - she shouldn't have trusted him. _Stupid, bloody Molly. Stupid, Molly. Stupid... _But she couldn't do anything. She couldn't even express the horror that overwhelmed her - the hatred that burned. The look on her face was stationary on the expression of pain.

"Call it a birthday cocktail," Jim muttered, before opening the car door.

"J-J-J..."

"No need to say anything Mollybear," he continued, before resting her unmoving body on the seat. He locked eyes with her one more time - watched as the fear and pain mixed into her hues. "_Sleep _tight, precious," Jim cooed, passing her a wink before disappearing.

She was muffled. Couldn't scream. She didn't even know if she was still breathing. Worst of all, she couldn't cry. The only thing she wanted to do.

_Bastard. Fucking. Bastard._

Molly's eyes were shutting; she could feel nothing more. The last thing she saw was the front of that car as she lay frozen on the backseat. Before the engine was even started, the drink had done its job and she was sleeping.

The world was black. It was cold. It was lonely.

But the best part? There was no Jim. And for Molly, as she lay there, terrified and poisoned - she almost wished she would never wake up. She wondered if this was what Sherlock and John had felt like. Afraid. But then it dawned on her that they were brave. They had _chosen _to be hurt for the very least chance of _killing _Jim. She couldn't do that.

She was worthless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The nausea was there as Molly opened her eyes. The instance that light flooded through her eyelids, memories flashed of sobbing as she was forced senseless into a car. There was a face, a _voice_.

_Jim. A _horrific, _deathly _taste brewed at the back of her throat as her dry, chapped lips parted to speak. No noise came out. Her ears were buzzing. She was going to be sick. Realizing that her body was still numb, a small tear fell from the corner of twitching eyes. She couldn't see. She didn't know where she was. There was light everywhere - _sunlight_?

And then, a voice.

"_Oh_, you're awake!"

Without even bothering to look at the figure, or attempt to recognize them - Molly _screamed_.

* * *

><p>"Hey... hey!"<p>

The scream concluded and Molly found her newfound voice paving the way for a howl. The sound was high-pitched and primal as hysterical sobs erupted from her chest, She fell forwards, unable to restrain her emotions. _Scared. _Jim. _Angry. _Jim. _Sickened. _It was all there. She gripped with trembling fingers at what felt like sheets beneath her and with a strangled breath cried, "_Help _me!"

Molly was so occupied that she had forgotten the person that had initiated her outburst. It was only when she felt a hand caress the top of her head that her attention seemed to return and she instinctively lifted her head. Her eyes, glazed with warm tears, were unable to focus on the person's face. She blinked, allowing them to fall as a woman's face formed. It was a complete stranger. Confusion, suddenly mixed into the cocktail of feelings.

"H..._Help_-p..._m-m-me_," she breathed palely, lifting a bony hand and attempting to hold the woman, "_please_... p-_please_..."

"I am," the woman responded simply, "just _don't_ scream like that, it's scary..."

The accent was irish. Molly found her voice withering at the back of her throat as she added,

"_He's... _he's... try... try... trying to _k-k-kill_... me." The last word left her lips and for a moment there was silence.

And then she heard a laugh. A bemused chuckle.

"It was only a drink, Molly," the woman affirmed. Molly glanced up. _She knows who I am. _She was young. Her face was tanned. Short, black hair. Jagged. _She knows who I am._

"I _can't_... everything hurts." Molly gasped, as she attempted to lift her leg. It felt like someone had compressed every bone in her body. Moving, became a chore.

"I know, I know," the figure mused, stepping back as if to inspect her, "they put a _lot _of shit in that drink o' yours."

_Drink. _The grave memory of realizing she had been poisoned entered Molly's consciousness. She had done so well - not trusting him. It was that one instance of weakness that broke her.

Large eyes still wavering, Molly took a deep, heaving breath,

"Who are you?" she asked, watching as the woman smiled, widely.

"Not important," the woman dismissed, stepping forwards again and gently reaching for a glass that was on the table beside Molly's bed.

It was a room; this was a _bedroom. _Not hers.

Molly found that her head pounded too much to peruse further into the woman's identity. Her mediator then offered the glass, smile as it was only moments ago. Entirely, trustworthy. She glanced at the clear glass which held a clear liquid - similar to what Jim had offered her. The instant reaction was to throw it. It was _poison. _Acid. Something that would kill her. But then, the woman began to laugh.

"_I _don't play dirty, Molly. Only boys do," she chimed, passing her dead eyes a wink, "it's for the pain."

"How do... do... do I know that?" Molly stammered, the feeling in her arms returning.

The woman's smile deformed into a very, playful smirk.

"You don't," she shrugged comfortably, "but _I _know that you must be hurting like _hell._"

It was true. Bitterly, Molly reached for the drink and gulped the tasteless liquid down. By the last sip, Molly's tears had returned. And within moments, so had most of the sensations in her body.

"Better?" the woman questioned, now sat on an armchair across the bed.

Molly nodded, weakly.

"Good," her smile returned, "_see_, I told you."

Beginning to wriggle her toes, Molly watched as the woman slowly stalked towards the door. Snake-like with the grace she walked.

"Is... he here?" she asked, one hand still gripping the top of her soft, velvety sheets for comfort.

Of course, the woman knew who _he _was and Molly paled as the woman bowed her head in confirmation,

"Yes."

"_Please_," Molly pleaded, "_please, _I need to go home."

A small, shadow of emotion fell across the woman's face. Molly wasn't sure what it was. If it was pity, or _disgust. _Either way, she left wordless and the door closed behind her with a thunderous click.

* * *

><p>Within a few moments, a knock resonated from the wooden door.<p>

A man's face, this time. Instantly, Molly found herself retreating to the back of her bed, her back arching against the wooden head board. The man, was another stranger. His face was thin, _pale_. Clear, blue eyes focused on Molly as she eyed his tall, harrowing figure with a shaky gaze. He was young also. But he was not dark. His hair, was pale. White, almost.

"I will need you to come with me." He stated.

"W-Where?" Molly, hopelessly questioned as he entered the room. Ready, to take her if she was not to go.

He didn't answer. As he closed the distance that seperated them, Molly lifted herself from the bed and found herself grasping the glass she had drank from with her other hand.

"Fine." She answered before swinging her arm and attempted to smash the glass onto his sculpted face. But before it reached him, his strong, built hands stopped her. His hand curled around her thin, wasted arm. He _squeezed. _She gasped, in pain. The glass dropped from her quivering fingers and he released her.

His face was blank. Yet, in his eyes - a small glaze of amusement.

"I wouldn't try that again if I were you," the man uttered dryly, his gaze still. His hand suddenly reached for her again before Molly stepped back, shiny eyes glaring disdainfully at his.

His bottom lip trembled. "_Don't _touch me." She said, taking a breath and palely stepping across him, "I'll go."

Molly walked. She was being watched obediently by him as they crossed the corridor from her room. Her thoughts were far too despondent for her to fully absorb where she was. In her mind, she was readying herself to die. Eyes dashed around. She glanced up at the man again. His eyes were cold. Unfeeling. His movements seemed mechanical as they walked. She glanced at his attire. Formal.

_Where am I?_

Sunlight streamed across the corridor, making her eyes blurry. A short, unfamiliar breeze seemed to fall at her feet from an open window somewhere. The smell of the air was _salty. _Like, she was by the sea.

"Please, tell me where I am," Molly whispered, glancing up at the man as they reached a large, wooden door.

She was silenced as she heard a voice. _His _voice. Behind the shiny surface. His presence - she could _feel _it. Her spine seemed to curl as his laughter echoed in her memories. The most, twisted sound - the most _bitter _gesture.

Her heart writhed within her chest as she told herself _not _to cry. She couldn't. She _couldn't_.

_This bastard deserved nothing._ With a deep, low breath, Molly watched as the man beside her turned the handle to shove the door open. However, just before, she blinked as the man's face turned towards her. She noticed instantly. She glanced at him, glare _toxic_ as he turned away, innocently.

The tears resurfaced again, much to her despair and she silenced a scowl. Her gaze fell consequently on her arm. _Oh. _She then realized that his eyes had been looking at the large, purplish bruises that had formed on her exposed arm. The discolourations that had shaped in consequence of Jim's hold on her.

She wondered if the statue-like man had pitied her. Or had simply marvelled.

Either way, there was no time in asking. The door swung open. Molly's thoughts faded as his voice increased in volume. Clarity. The tears instantly stopped. Molly stopped shaking. Now, there was nothing.

_Only hatred remained._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Surreal.

That was the only way Molly could describe the scene that she saw. Instead of a gravely-lit, _dripping _room filled with torture appliances - the room had been a large, _living _area. It was illuminated by sunlight. She could _hear _the ocean. Hear voices chatting. Hear the television. Walking in, barefoot, Molly found herself speechless as she entered. Her eyes immediately found him. He was standing by the back of a sofa, speaking to a man seated on it. They were smiling. As far as Molly knew, they were not speaking in English.

She was still as his eyes lifted. Molly watched as his expression changed. His smile remained - but it _widened _the moment he realized that she was here. Patting the gentleman's shoulder, Jim whispered something before the man raised from the couch and began to walk towards the door. He expressed a small, polite bow down Molly's way as she turned to watch him leave. The blonde man that had escorted her stood by the door, opening it for the man and even expressing a short, false smile as a farewell.

"I hope you're not cold."

Molly turned, at the sound of his voice. He was still behind the couch, but now his dark, almost _black _eyes were set on her every move. She didn't answer. He expressed a short chuckle before flicking a gaze at the man by the door,

"It's _fine_, you can go," he ordered the man primly, before turning his eyes onto Molly again, "I can deal with her."

His eyes seemed to pierce - _urge _for her to say something.

Again, she resisted. She found herself jumping a little at the sound of the door closing behind her. Now, it was just Jim and her. _Just._

The hatred that layered her feelings seemed to twitch as he eyed her. Molly could feel his gaze, leering. His eyes continued to observe her before he shrugged and then began to move from his position.

He didn't speak for a few seconds. Molly was as still, entirely inanimate. However, as he edged closer, she couldn't help but feel her chest hammer. It was loud, and if anything painful. She remained clueless if this rapid heartbeat was from fear or something _entirely _beyond her.

She watched as Jim chewed his bottom lip, thoughtful. Her hazel eyes were losing it's austerity as every second dripped past. The silence was _hot. _It made the back of her neck prickle. It was uncomfortable - if anything, eerie. The atmosphere was so thick that Molly found her gaze falling. It focused on his shoes, which were not far from here.

A small, imperious _chuckle_ crushed the silence into dust.

"You look better," Jim drawled steadily, body leaning in a slight angle, "How are you feeling?"

Molly's head was brimming with thoughts she could spitefully bark at him. They were all laced with such _repulsion _that she never thought would ever slip through her lips. She had never felt such negative thoughts - such _anger. _Hate. Disgust. She had grown up through her life as a positive thinker - that _everyone _she met had a better side. Now, she wasn't so sure.

She wasn't even sure if Jim could constitute as a human. From what she knew of his true colours, he emitted no humanity. His eyes had no life - his voice no humour. He was just _skin. _Animalistic, brutal skin. He released an _effect_ on people. And Molly had fallen victim. She had been so stupid - if only she had known before. If _only_, for one day she chose not to be stupid. For once, to be smart and to avoid all men that seemed too fantastic to be true.

"Drifting off, hm?"

Molly's eyes averted towards him automatically. Jim was grinning.

"Ah," he stated pointedly, "Back again."

She glanced at him, entirely silent as he pressed his lips into a bemused thin line and with time, allowed his mocking grin to fade. Molly's eyes momentarily flicked downwards and she noted that he was wearing a suit. A deep, vibrant navy blue. It looked lavish. He was also holding a long, black cane which he was leaning his weight on. It was shiny, free of indentation. From what Molly had seen of him, she was certain that Jim had no need for assistance in movement. It must be for show.

"C'mon, Molly," Jim cooed, bowing his head, "I'm only asking how you are."

"Fine." Molly breathed, sharply.

Jim nodded his head a few times, "See," he retorted, "that wasn't difficult."

He walked towards her. Molly took a step back. Jim noticed this and as if in thought, stayed frozen for a few seconds. He then the caught the look in her eye and he smiled. He retreated then straightened his back. Continuing to watch her, he took a deep, theatrical breath:

"I see," he said, "that's _perfectly_ reasonable I suppose."

Reasonable? Molly should have jumped out of the balcony if he was looking for _reason. _

"What... where...?" she stammered, mustering the best look of _courage _on her trembling face. She noticed that his smile seemed to stretch at her words and frustrated tears crept into hazel hues, "_Stop_, god... please, stop. Jim, it's _my _turn to ask a question..."

The man paused and once more flawlessly released the smile that had plastered itself on his lips.

"Fine," he articulated, "ask."

Molly paused to compose herself before expelling a breathless wheeze, "_Why_ am I here?" she murmured, "_Where_ -" But before she could finish, Jim held up a hand to stop her. Her lips pursed together as Jim shook his head - resembling a parent scolding a child.

"_No_, I believe I only owe you one answer," a small tug at his lips appeared before he turned his chin towards the television. Molly followed his gaze and could hear the familiar background blur of voices secreted by the small screen. Confused at his gesture, she didn't move. Until, he spoke again.

"Look at the television, Molly." The order was incisive - seemingly free of any sarcastic overtones.

This was enough to cause suspicion. "Why?" Molly jabbed.

"You wanted an answer." Jim remarked casually, circling the floor with his cane, "_Look_." He then lifted the object and with a vehement jab poised it to the screen.

Molly wondered if she should. It seemed like a harmless order. But it was difficult to trust him even with the most innocent of asks. Shaking her head defeatedly, she tentatively wandered over to the series of cream-coloured couches and closing her eyes ever-so-slightly _sat. _It seemed to take ages in her mind but she couldn't _see _this as normal. The couch felt rigid beneath her as she warily turned her eyes to the screen.

It was a relatively small screen, but the pictures seemed to be magnified. The images flashing vigorously on the television surface was of fiery carnage. Her eyes were so taken by the images of the orange flames that she had overlooked the scrollbar at the bottom of the screen. She blinked as a volume sign appeared and the bars seemed to increase. The blurred voices that hummed at the back of the television grew and suddenly comprehensible words started to form.

_'The blast in Central London in the early hours of the morning is known to have killed 30 people and injured 25. It is known to have initiated at around three am. There are fears that this new incident may be connected to several explosions that had occured in London the past few months... Little is known about the incident for the moment and a news conference is to be held later this morning...' _

The voices seemed to fade as Molly's eyes truly absorbed the images that were portrayed. It looked hellish; tragic. But most of all, it looked _familiar._ And suddenly the helicopter pictures disappeared and there are real-time pictures of the damage. There was pictures of burnt, eroded houses. Rubble. And then instantly, her hazel eyes grew. _There_ - a burnt, crumbling sign.

"Oh... god... no," the black, scalded welcome sign of her street's corner shop. It was in ruins. And after that, everything began to scream at her. The cars that lined the side of the streets. The fence. _Everything. _It was her street. It was her street on television. _Her_ street that had been damaged. Three am in the morning? Faces of neighbours illuminated the thoughts in her mind.

They could all be dead. _All _of them. Molly knew she lived in one of the more affluent areas of London. This didn't happen. This would _never _happen. _Why?_She could taste the sickness swelling at the back of her throat as her breathing grew inconsistent. Air seemed to disperse around her as the reality came crashing down. It collided with her thoughts in a landslide of nausea.

Molly hadn't realised that her hands had covered her mouth, as if to protect it. Tears sparked the corners of her eyes as she blinked to send them away. Her mind seemed defiant on not accepting that this had happened. But her body was shivering as if in a cold bath.

"I... I..." Her lips were unable to make words as she allowed the voices of the television to speak for her,

_'The cause of this blast is unknown. There are strong suggestions of a deliberate attack as it is known that a visiting diplomat was in the area during the incident...' _

Her home. _Vanished. _Destroyed. Molly couldn't stomach it. She was in shock. And she remained motionless until Jim's voice seemed to overpower the blood that was heatedly running through her ears.

"You could have been there."

Her eyes glanced up at him. His face, was entirely serious.

"_You_, did it... didn't you?" Molly's tone held no accusatory underline. It wasn't cutting. It barely held a tone. If anything, it was a question of anguish. Thirty people. The feeling of grief that she had suppressed for the line of work she did, seemed to wither.

Home. _Her _home... "Not me." Jim answered.

"_Who _would... would... do _this_?" Molly's head shook, inhaling through her nose as she attempted to control the emotion that was threatening to flood out of her in a flurry of sobs, "_there _were children... sleeping. _Families... _I..."

_'Already, respects are being paid to those who are known to have died...' _Images of people laying flowers by the security tape that concealed the street was shown. Molly's heart writhed at the scene of a woman, falling to her knees as she added a bouquet of flowers to the pile - clearly choking down a grieving cry.

It was odd. Odd for Molly. She was _mourning. _For her home. For the people who died. For _death. _It was odd because she had been surrounded by this element of life for years. But the rubble - the damage she saw - it broke her completely. And the magnitude of the fact that she had lost her home, and could have lost her life, had not collided with her completely.

The moment seemed to linger until Jim spoke again.

"There's nothing left for you." His tone was cold and derogatory. The tone she _recognized_ and believed.

Jim was still standing where he had been before. His dark, disparaging eyes had watched her breakdown. Analysed every breath and flicker. Molly met his eyes and she found herself agreeing. He was right. She had lost _everything. S_he felt a tide of hopelessness wash over her as she continued to look at him. It hurt. His eyes - orbs that seemed to drill right into her thoughts.

"I don't understand," Molly cried pathetically, shaking her head, _intoxicated _with rage and anxiety. Tiredness. _Sickness. _Repulsion. Hate. _Fear. _She was baffled by all these feelings. Nothing seemed right anymore.

It was madness. And yet Jim's face stayed, watching her incompetent mumbles with a straight face.

"I don't understand," she started again before releasing a breath and glaring up at him, "_why _you took me."

Was it to watch her suffer like this? Perhaps he wanted to kill her himself. Molly felt bleak. Helpless. The last time she had felt this pathetic was at seven and watching her parents' marriage crumble. She didn't know anything, anymore. _Everything _had been taken. Nothing was left. And Jim? _She _was useless. Fumbling. Careless. _Worthless. _She was worth disposing.

There was nothing important about Molly Hooper; everything she had ever owned had perished in those flames. Now, she was ash. Her memories scalded. Everyone probably thought her dead. Her composure broke again and Molly watched the screen, a repeat of the helicopter pictures engulfing her thoughts.

Jim, for the first time in a while, dropped his gaze. He lifted his chin thoughtfully and then threw his eyes back at her after a few seconds of thinking. Molly didn't notice this change of stance until she heard him.

"Molly... Molly... _Molly_," he chanted, shaking his head before grimacing decisively as if her name had secreted a bad taste.

The grimace deformed into a small, curved _pout_.

"You - my little _darling _- made an impression on me."

Molly's face remained serious for a moment before she bitterly threw her head back and barked, "_Oh_, Jim. Yeah. _Thanks. _That explains _everything_ now!" a short, heated chuckle followed. She knew it was masking the whimper that should have been emitted instead. An impression? Was that meant to be a positive thing? The flushed, blushing morgue assistant made an impression on the criminal impresario.

Fucking hilarious.

"Oh it does," Jim stated gleefully, his signature smile making it's patronizing appearance again, "I would have happily let you die, Molly-bear!"

His voice dribbled with resentment as his smile remained flawlessly wide. Molly felt her body grow stiff as she digested his words. Jim nodded, plainly content with her reaction.

"Yes," he continued, "that's right. I _like _to make things _fun_; but I wouldn't take you all the way out here... to _kill _you if... I could have let that -" His cane once more aimed at the screen, "happen to you instead."

His voice was so chilling. Molly noted that his voice had lost volume. It was a sneer - a taunting whisper. Fun? The insanity that dwelled in his eyes shone as his stare intensified. Molly's terrified eyes glanced up at him as he seemed to lean closer to her:

"_Molly_," the sharp sound of her name with his voice caused shivers to tremble down her back, "I _want _you to work for me..."

Before she could answer - or even assimilate the offer, Molly found herself jumping at the sound of the door closing. Her eyes acrimoniously glanced at the doorway where the blonde man entered the room again. His tall, harrowing figure seemed to mount a different amount of pressure into the room. His very presence made Molly very aware that she wasn't safe. In fact, it seemed to magnify the danger.

She shuddered as the sharp _click _to indicate the room being _locked _echoed past her ears. Molly's fingers instantly gripped the edge of the fabric sofa as with quivering bones, she glanced up at Jim's awaiting eyes.

He smiled at her. Gently. He then lowered his gaze to glance at his shoes - as if to prevent her from catching an inside joke- and then looked back. Playfully, Jim's eyes dashed towards the gentleman by the door. But then they returned. _Tease. _

"_Or_..." He sighed and then lifted one shoulder, "I _could _just... you know..._kill_ you."

"You said you wouldn't." Molly blurted out, tear falling.

"I know I did... I lied." Jim smiled widely.

The dark eyed man watched the dancing gleams of fear in the woman's eyes. Each moment that seemed to pass, the atmosphere seemed to swell. He swore, he could almost _hear _her heart beating.

It was _just_ delicious.

"So, Mollybear. What's it going to be _honey_?" He bit his lip, excited. His smile never faltered as he offered a slow, sickly wink and added, "_Your _choice..."


	5. Chapter 5

**_C_hapter Five.**

"I don't want to manipulate your decision, sweetie." His lips emphasised every word viciously as he slowly approached her. She looked petrified. He noticed that her fingers had clenched around the fabric of the sofa, as if it could salvage her from danger. The blood that she had lost from her face seemed to flood through the veins in her arms as he watched them pulsate. A second nipped past and he realized that he had not completed his sentence.

Silly.

"What was I saying? Oh _yes_," the black haired man shook his head as he pulled his cane mutely after him, approaching the sofa across her gracefully, "I don't want to manipulate your decision... but _I _know which one _I _would choose." A back-biting smile pulled the corners of his mouth as he sat, watching as her shaking head turned towards him obediently. A small glimmer of emotion was in her eyes now.

Fear. It was pure, unadulterated fear. "C'mon," he whispered, eyes _goading _for a reaction, "Mollybear, we don't have all day." It was true. Jim got _very _bored in very short periods. His mind was a never-ending treadmill of decision. And as far as he knew, a person could live today and be savaged tomorrow. He couldn't be confided in to be _loyal _to his word.

But surely, she should know by now. Jim from IT was a lunatic. And lunatics, got _very _bored.

The man leaned back, releasing a comfortable gasp in the process. He folded one leg over the other as he wondered contentedly if Molly's survival had been a product of his unyielding boredom. It seemed very likely. After all, as he eyed her now- she was laughable. Perhaps it was the mediocrity of Molly Hooper's life that made her so fascinating.

"I'm going to give you to a count of five." Jim offered. Her body suddenly seemed to regain consciousness as she eyed him, jaw wide. His smile remained, wholly satisfied. As of current, her body was releasing _chemicals. _Chemicals that would increase her heart rate. Breaths. Blood flow. Thoughts would be zipping past her mind and she would be unable to comprehend it.

"Five."

_Oh_, he was ridiculous!

"Four."

His feet was tapping. In his head, he hummed a flighty holiday tune. And then his eyes gleamed, "Three."

She looked ready to combust. Jim's toothy smile stretched.

"Twoooooooooo," He sang cheerily before allowing his eyes to engage with hers and articulated a prickly, "_One_."

At the click of his tongue, he leaned his cane onto the edge of the sofa and jumped up with a pistol in hand. A smirk still doing a tango on his lips, Jim's eyes dropped as he curiously watched the edge of the gun align amicably with the centre of Molly's head. The gun's lips were breathlessly close to her skin; it was captivating.

She was crying now. _Aw. _"It's not that difficult to choose, Mollybear," Jim murmured, holding the pistol steadily, finger circling the trigger, "Do you want to die... or not?"

* * *

><p>His eyes were so black Molly couldn't tell if they were still his. She was here, with a gun pointed at her head. If anything, she wanted to believe that he wouldn't shoot. That he would feel somewhat <em>sorry <em>for her. But here he was, poised and ready to shoot her brains out. She hadn't been able to overcome the panic that flushed into her when he started to count. The satisfaction that painted his face made her so sickly that she didn't have enough time to think. Now, the reality had collided with her.

He was going to pull it. One slip, and she was dead. "Oh, god Jim don't do this!" she cried out, knowing it was hopeless. It all seemed to be a cruel _joke. _Because even if she didn't choose death, she was going to _work_ for him. What did that even mean? She could only relate it to something torturous - a fate that rivalled death itself. She was confused. But the fear overcame every other emotion. She had never felt fear like this. It shook her. Sweat was dripping from her cold forehead as she restrained her sobs. _So scared. _

What_ am I going to do? _"It's not that difficult to choose, Mollybear," she heard him mutter, "Do you want to die... or not?"

The gun was so close to her that as she shook, her skin seemed to brush against it. The cold feeling of the metal making the tears in her eyes fall even quicker. She wondered what it would be like - to _die. _This would not be a painful death. In fact, Molly could imagine it to be rather painless and swift. Or of course, he could be lying and shoot her somewhere else to torment her final hours.

At the end of the day, Molly knew one thing and that was that she knew nothing. He had her dangling within his fingertips the moment she entered the room. He knew that this would happen. He knew that she would succumb to her panic. She knew that _he _knew what she was going to choose. And he was just waiting for her to admit to it. "Jim... I hate you," she choked, tears brimming the bottom of her eyes as she squeezed them shut.

* * *

><p>It was taking <em>too <em>long. Chewing his bottom lip, the man groaned as she said something that contributed absolutely _nothing _to the ordeal. The tears were a mere intrusion to the choice she was meant to make. Holding the gun steadily, the man turned it - inching it ever so slightly so it scraped the glazed layer of her skin. She recoiled against it, emitting a noise that Jim deduced as a whimper of anguish. She was curling. Her shoulders were hunched and her legs were pressing together. Ah, and she was shivering. _Fear_.

"That was not what I asked," he answered sternly, inclining his head to see that she had shut her eyes. Parting his lips to comment, the man paused as he realized something was stirring.

Her movements had been quick - _flash_, even. But Jim had seen the twitch in her leg to indicate an upcoming _jump. _It wasn't worry that crossed his eyes. It was _excitement. _

And then, within seconds she _lunged_ at him, curled fingers plunged in the direction of his neckline. The gun fell from his steady grasp. It could have happily stayed within his grip. In fact, he wasn't the type of man _trained _to drop a weapon.

But he allowed it to fall anyway as his neck was grabbed and he was throttled onto the ground. Never on his face did an expression of surprise or _pain_ showed. In fact, his face was somewhat ponderous as he felt her fingers dig into the corners of his windpipe. Her face was one of a _martyr. _A last formal challenge before her ultimate downfall. Her teeth were gnashed - crimson face flushed with _hate_. Her grip on his throat was tight. _Oh, Molly_, his thoughts drawled lightly. His body defied him and he began to emit a dry, hoarse cough.

Jim thought that this would somehow _soften _her grip. But no. In fact, it tightened. He tried to lift himself but her weight and her grip forced him down. It was really rather perfect. Oh, he was _very _impressed.

"Oh... oh Molly!" he choked happily, voice strained as his throat wrenched against the asphyxiation, "I knew... I couldn't_ kill_ you...yet..." His smile seemed to sparkle as he sniggered wickedly, the noise grave and filthy.

The determination in her large, hazel eyes was extraordinary. Jim watched as she lifted her eyes. Her grasp on his throat seemed to soften a little as her eyes met with the cold, brutal gaze of his assistant's. An expression of innocence fell on her face - a clear contrast to the savage that was trying to smother him.

Interesting.

"Don't... bother, _Bastian_," Jim commented wryly, passing Molly a lewd wink, "Molly... and I are... just _playing_."

He had instructed his assistant earlier that he was here to watch. To _comment. _Jim had expected Molly to push a final plea at some point. He supposed he may have underestimated the magnitude a little. _But_, that was what made it such a joy. It was something he wished he could admire from afar. Her innocence seemed to have faded in a matter of minutes and was replaced by a _beast. _Astonishing.

Chest heaving, the man twisted his neck restlessly as Molly's attention returned to him once more. His smile was affecting her - making her hatred for him intensify. Her hands were hot. _Hellish._ It was difficult not to love it.

"I... I love a woman on top," he coughed deprecatingly as Molly's head began to shake.

"You cold bastard," she spat, tightening her hold on his neck as he arched his back in response.

He gasped out in pain. It was _excruciating. _But he wasn't finished.

Jim laughed. "Touchy... touchy," He stuttered glaringly, sides of his windpipe growing sore, "who knew that _Little_ Molly Hooper could have _such _a grip?" His face softened momentarily as he blurted out a small, "...little...not-as-good-as-her-sister, Molly... Little Miss _disappointment_..."

He winked.

"Oh, I know," he pronounced as her fingers loosened its grasp involuntarily, "I know _everything _about you."

The words had caught her. Her eyes widened. Jim's eyes teasingly softened, "Oh, _my_ Molly. Do you really think that I chose you out of that morgue _randomly_? Sure... you were connected to Holmes. _Sure_, you were a woman," his eyes lost it's flicker as they hardened forcefully, "but I chose _you _because you were by far the most hopeless out of all of the lot."

Her tears had returned. Jim cocked his head to the side and with a cold, dry hiss uttered,

"Face it. If you died, no-one but your _cat _would miss you."

Instantly, her hand pressed to the top of his throat, squeezing the sides again. Her eyes were fiery with anger. But the sadness was there. The insecurities magnified by the truth that slipped coldly from his mouth. Her weakness was herself. Jim's fingers curled and dug into the carpet as pain began to sear through his chest. And then - the grip slipped.

"Liar," the trap was set. Denial. "You're a liar."

"I am?" Jim quipped, taking a long, inhale, "Oh Molly... don't tell me you actually _believe _that people care about you."

"No.. I..."

"Molly who was always picked last at school," his voice reduced to a thin, unsettling whisper as he continued, "_Molly _who _boys never liked... _the girl who was always... _just there..._"

"Shut up, god shut up!" She shrieked at him, hands unable to grope at anything but her own skin.

"...existed for _nothing_. Hated..."

"_Shut up!_ Jim! Shut up!"

It was far too good to stop. "Never, good enough for anyone," he spewed gravely, flicking his eyes back at her, "_Useless_."

His pale lips turned into a satisfied line. She was breaking apart at every letter he spoke. Already the desire to kill had faded and now, she was met with the insatiable conclusion that he was going to _tear _her apart bit by bit.

He needed no gun to kill her.

She had retreated now. Her face was pale as she stood up and once more sat by the couch. Taking another bucket of breath, he lifted and with a stretch, he stood. Brushing off the creases that had formed on his blazer, Jim stretched his neck and glanced down at her. The gun was just a centimetre or so by her left foot.

Unnecessary tools. Jim's face averted towards her. His expression stony. Carefully, his gaze bore into her - drilling into skin that was once alive. "Molly, I can _make _people remember you," he stated simply, watching as her trembling eyes glanced up, "Give your life a _purpose_..."

He crouched, swiftly tracing a finger down her swollen cheek while his other hand grabbed his gun and stowed it safely in his pocket. She didn't recoil against his touch. She didn't try to strangulate him either. Her body merely shivered in response to his light, tentative touch.

Jim's eyes glistened darkly as he leaned into her face,

"I can change _everything, _Molly..." he murmured, voice seductively thin as he smiled, "_just_ say... _yes_."

* * *

><p>Memories of her school, playground days rocked her mind as she listened to him. One memory stood out in particular and it was herself at seventeen. She had been inconsolably introverted. And at school, a disco was conducted to raise money for the local hospice. Unable to go, she had stayed at home and had waited until late in the evening to see her older sister, Emily return home. She had watched as the girl wandered up their pathway, looped arm-in-arm with Jonathan Bleakley - a boy she had fancied from the tender age of nine. Molly had gasped as she watched them maneouvre drunkenly through the flowerbeds, blatantly intoxicated but also in love.<p>

It seemed silly to think about this now as schoolground days remained school days. But it was how it had _always _been. Emily married Jonathan and grew up to be a consultant gastroenterologist. Molly found that growing up in someone's shadow had been far easier than growing up by herself. She had always been _Just Molly. _Emily's sister. _The second daughter. _Or more recently, that _morgue assistant. _She wasn't majestically clever - nor had she ever been magnificently beautiful. Evidently. No. She was just _second _to everything.

He was weaving her insecurities and her self-pity around her. But Molly couldn't argue as she knew how effectively it was working. She couldn't kill him. It had been a last ditch attempt to cause pain before she chose death. It was _death_ that she wanted to choose. Until he started to talk. And then it all changed and her viewpoints were manipulated. This wasn't right. No. But suddenly, death seemed _immoral. _Her head throbbed.

Jim had intoxicated her weakness. He had caught her. She had no other choice. Eyeing his face which was not far from her own, Molly succumbed.

"I don't want to die." she uttered weakly, feeling like her voice was not of her own.

The victorious shimmer in his eyes returned.

"So... is that a _yes_?"

"I -"

He shook his head, dismissing her words with a hand flick. "_Good_ choice, Molly," Jim uttered, delighted as he stood up and exercised his neck. He then eyed Molly's pale, sallow face and quirked his head at an angle, "You know, I _really _didn't want to kill you. Promise."

Molly's lips couldn't move to respond as the realization of her choice began to gradually descend upon her.

"Jim - I -" she stammered before a look of false _shock _stretched across Jim's face.

"Uh, _no_ Mollybear," he winked, "no _takesies backsies. _You know that _right_?"

The bitter truth forced Molly's tears to return. One fell. And then another. She allowed them to fall, as she eyed the man across her unfeelingly. _Molly... what have you done? _The feeling that followed was shame. And it made her feel sick.

Jim watched her uninterestedly as he cocked his head up to signal to the blonde man by the door. He then articulated an offer,

"Now, come on. _Our_ breakfast is getting cold," he passed her a chortle, "you must be _famished_."

"I'm not hungry," she responded faintly.

"Nonsense," Jim wheezed, waving a hand of dismissal, "they make the _best _orange juice. Your favourite! I even asked them to make it _extra _special for you..."

He was already walking towards the door. Molly glanced up and caught the gaze of the blonde man - _Bastian. _He stood, perfectly still as Jim passed through the door, whistling and twirling his cane with his fingers. Molly paled as she watched him, face tingling at where he had touched her.

Shaking, she stood up.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Sincere apologies for the lack of author notes. I do thank you for reading/for sticking with it. I will try and update as often as I can but January will be a bit busy. The chapters will get shorter (hopefully) so I don't strain your eyes.**

**I never ask for your reviews as I know they're hard sometimes. I just hope you're liking it so far! Hope you had a nice holidays as well. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six.**

The dining room was large enough to accommodate fifty people at least. It was grand, old and matched the aura of the areas of the house Molly had seen. A table was positioned in the middle. The cold, blonde man never left her side and he invited her to sit at the edge of the table. Distractedly, she around, there were paintings of country landscapes. Above her, a small golden chandelier. However, natural light seemed to be a significant element of the home as a balcony behind her allowed for the place to be brightened by sunlight. It was difficult for Molly to focus as there was so much to feast her eyes upon and for a few brief moments, the sickness in her stomach seemed to subside.

"Breakfast's on the tray in front of you."

It was only Jim's voice that derailed her inner thoughts and brought the repulsion back to her taste buds. Palely, her large eyes fell on a bowl of muesli that sat innocuously in front of her. Beside it was a cup of orange juice and a large jug of milk. It was clear that Jim recalled her rubbish ramble about the fact that she had eaten nothing but muesli and orange juice for breakfast since she was nine. It had been an innocuous confession - probably when she had consumed a glass of wine or two. Either way, it was entirely insignificant - and yet it was here.

She never had the urge to touch the clean, shiny plates. The breakfast remained uneaten as she sat, gulping down a dryness in her throat that never seemed to fade. Her eyes darted wearily around. Perhaps, food would be best for her - it could quell the feeling of sickness and be a cure for her exhaustion. Even, just a taste. However, the appetite was not there and there was far too much happening inside Molly's head to force herself to eat. If she did, she was seventy percent sure she'd just be sick.

"Not hungry?" His voice retorted gently as she glanced up and looked at Jim who sat on the far end opposite her. He was occupied with reading a newspaper and for once his eyes wasn't observing her.

When Molly didn't answer, his eyes did flick up to meet her gaze. She found herself staring at him, feeling that the long stretch between them was entirely insignificant. She still felt his breath _hissing _against her neck. She could also still feel the cold sting of the metal gun's skin on her own. Despite being the furthest apart, Molly knew how little it mattered for in her mind she might as well be standing next to him.

"If you don't like it," Jim purred, gnashing his teeth lightly, "You could always ask for something else."

"I... I want to go the bathroom," Molly announced weakly, gazing around as she realized how childish it all appeared, "...I'm not hungry."

"Oh," Molly watched as Jim's eyes seemed to narrow, "well go ahead. It's down that corridor. Third door on your left."

There was a crisp coolness to his tone that Molly didn't trust. She pushed the chair away from her as she stood up and glanced back at Jim whose eyes returned favourably back to his paper. Mutely, she walked towards the door and heard a flighty -

"Don't take too long."

Molly paused and eyed the floor, imagining his eyes watching her intently as she left. "Yes." she answered, stepping out and feeling instantly like she could fall from how liberated she instantly felt. It was the first time that she genuinely felt _away _from him. The first time she did not have to fear his eyes which seemed to examine her every breath. It could just be the exhaustion, the stress and the hunger - but it was the most uplifted she had felt for what seemed like eternity.

However, that momentary lapse of freedom did not last longer than a second as it became clear that she was still being watched. Above the entrance to the dining room, in a dark corner was one singular _red _dot. A camera.

And it was going to plot her every move. Molly stared at it, feeling the need to _do _something. But she simply looked away, emitting a defeated sigh.

* * *

><p>It was pitch black inside. Molly collapsed onto her knees, back arched against the wooden door. The silence. The darkness. It allowed for the momentum of the situation to finally collide with her senses. The faces of those she loved. Her sister. Her nieces. Her parents. Their faces were all crumbling from her memories and she was lost as to what she could do. Did everyone think she was dead? <em>Does anyone care<em>? Instantly, she found herself curling her fists into a ball. She couldn't let him do that. No.

People cared about Molly Hooper - because she _always _cared about people. Someone out there had to know that she wasn't dead. And she knew that this meagre swell of hope was the only thing she had left to hold onto.

She was with Moriarty now, a criminal mastermind wanted by the world. Work for him? What did that mean? She wasn't a criminal. She was _civil. _Perhaps this was how she was going to die. He was going to kill everything that she was - and the first step had been to destroy her home. She couldn't ever let him do it. But he was better than her - better than _anyone _at what he did. What could she do? She was only Molly. Molly Isadora Hooper. She didn't really mean much.

"Oh, Molly," she breathed into the cold, vacant air, "what are we going to do?"

She had no other choice; that was what she had to think about. He offered no other alternative. For a few seconds, the sinister threat of tears pended as she gazed out in the hollow blackness. But then, the moment faded and Molly sat there for as long as she could. Silent. The scenery reminded her of the late shifts and coming home at two in the morning, exhausted. She always found little energy to turn the lights on and so maneouvred gracefully in the darkness. A small smile pressed sorrowfully across her lips as she thought about her flat.

She was going to miss the familiar hum of her boiler. The way that the roof leaked. Her creaky doors, floors and bed. The missing tile from her kitchen floor. The old, plant pot that she kept for good luck positioned on the top of her bedroom wardrobe. And she was going to miss - _Toby. _The picture of her small, helpless pet perishing in the flames made her heart wrench. _I'm sorry Toby._ Shutting her eyes, Molly envisaged that she was home. That she was hearing the familiar hum of the boiler. The small _meow _that Toby emitted when he was hungry. And for a few seconds, she almost believed it.

It wasn't long before the knock on the door came and Molly knew that her safe haven was gone. Edgy, she stood and wiped the corners of her eyes with her sleeve. Her hands then gripped the icy door handle and slowly, she turned it. It was time to face the reality she had chosen for herself - the hell, that she was going to have to live through.

It was time to face the truth.

There was no home now.

* * *

><p>She was right. They were by the sea. On a beautiful house that overlooked the turbulent waves that collided with the rocks below them. Molly was momentarily taken by the sight. It was beautiful. Everywhere, it was sunny. The warm feeling of the sunlight reminded her briefly of summers with her father and how <em>much <em>she had missed him when the summer ended and she was shipped back to her mother. The feeling of that light on her cheeks seemed to dry them. And for a few moments, she was blinded by the beauty of the backdrop. But then he spoke. And the cold, feeling of the rainwater that sploshed onto her back when he kidnapped her came hurtling down again.

"It's owned by the gentleman you saw earlier," Jim murmured as they stood by the balcony, his fingers drumming on the metal bar, "I borrow it sometimes. It's always sunny here."

The geniality in his tone could always carry overtones of teasing. Molly could never tell. She had never known him like this. Her eyes had obviously been clouded with fear the first time she saw him at her doorstep. At that point, she thought he was _identical _to the Jim from IT that she had dated. But no, he was completely different now. Firstly, his true accent somewhat accentuated the eeriness in his voice. Secondly, his face seemed paler. His eyes seemed tired. He was thinner. He looked - in one word - _stressed. _And no matter how cool his tone appeared to be, Molly saw an interminable restlessness in the way he carried himself. And his tired, broken eyes seemed - dead.

And she knew what the eyes of the dead looked like. The eyes of the dead were lifeless, of course - _just _like his. "How come you weren't hurt?" Molly asked, breaking the silence as she stood a few steps away from him. Jim's eyes seemed to drag itself towards her - it was clearly a topic he didn't like. She was referring to The Pool. He stared at her, lip pressed as he exhaled.

"It was timing," he answered, "I was hurt, but not a lot."

"It bothers you... doesn't it," Molly murmured, unsure where the words were dripping from but finding herself powerless to contain them, "the fact that Sherlock... is alive."

He was amused. "Why would it bother me?" Jim retorted, shrugging, "It gives me time to drum up something _super _special for him and I."

"Special?"

"Spectacular." Jim smiled.

But there. Molly saw. Before he spoke, he had shown a short grimace - just a momentary frown. He definitely did not like talking about this topic. And Molly could only find her thoughts pushing her to press onwards. However, just as the coastal breeze seemed to sweep over them, Jim quirked his head at her and shared his million-pound smile once again.

"Don't worry... he is _certainly _going to die," Jim stated, eyes boring into hers as he licked his lips wryly, "And you know how I know?"

His grey face brightened as he held up both hands and stretched them.

"Because these hands are going to be the ones that kill him."

There was anger in that. A true, scathing hatred. However Molly's attention was too struck by the truth behind the way he said it. He wasn't concerned. He didn't seem to feel the magnitude of what he said. Jim was entirely immoral. He was smiling too. It was completely unbelievable. Molly was past repulsion - no, she was just _stunned_.

"What if he kills you first?" She blurted out.

Jim's eye twitched. And then he laughed. The wounding, bitter sound of irony.

"He won't." The man dismissed tonelessly before cackling and narrowing his eyes at her, "I hope you're not rooting for him still, Molly." He clacked his tongue gravely, "It _will _upset me if you do."

"Why?"

"Because you work for me now sweetheart," Jim drawled with a playful huff, "It's a self-explanatory ask don't you think?"

Molly winced. "Jim... I don't know what... what it is that you want me to _do_," she managed, shaking her head, "I don't understand what working for you means."

He was watching her. Face back to its unreadable form. Tugging at his tie, Jim shook his head and dismissed her query with a hand gesture.

"It's easy," he answered with a playfully heavy tone, "I tell you what to do... and you do it for me."

His eyes then glistened.

"Sorta like _Simon Says_," he added trivially, face thoughtful, "you know the game."

Simon Says. Jim says. _Jim Says you take this. Jim says you deliver this. Jim says... murder him. Kill her. Burn - _Her inner thoughts faded.

"So, what happens if... I'm not very good at the game..." Molly murmured, fingers fidgeting as Jim licked his lips dryly. His face was almost pensive as he flexed both of his hands and fished them into his trouser pockets.

He shrugged.

"Well, then you die of course." He retorted distantly before smirking, "But surely though, you could have guessed that."

A frigid pattern of life and death was forming. Molly found that the line between both concepts of existence was blurred here. Death didn't matter here. It just _was. _It reminded her of work. How it became so natural for her to be surrounded by the deceased.

"You'll be fine though, Molly. I assure you," Jim hummed with a nod.

"How?" Molly asked, swallowing.

"Oh, I can tell," the man nodded, wide smile stretching, "_You_, my little morgue assistant. You are going to be play this game very well."

Again her mind pleaded as to how. She couldn't think how she could possibly execute any form of his work. In fact, Molly doubted she'd live past today as everything he said seemed to press against the corners of her brain. He was utterly insane if he thought this was going to be _easy_ -

"Death is always the hardest part for _other people,_" Jim then shared, silencing her thoughts completely as he blinked at her, "But you are a complete natural with it..."

Molly blinked "What?"

"All the dead around you. And you're _completely _sane."

"It's because it's my work."

"It's because you don't _care_." Jim corrected with a knowing nod, "You know you don't. Somewhere."

Molly found herself lightly shaking her head, utterly affronted. "You're crazy." She spat.

Jim's smile remained.

"No," he hummed, "I'm right." His eyes were shiny as he hunched his shoulders ponderously, "You will need time. Attention. TLC. But you'll see that I'm right."

Opening her mouth to disdainfully cut at him, Molly blinked as a song seemed to be playing somewhere. She was far too distracted to place what the song was. It was a ringtone. She had no phone on her. But then Jim groaned.

"Oh," the man cursed glaring at his phone screen, "Molly. I must cut our chitchat short, darling. Duty calls."

He winked at her.

"Talk to you later," he sang before lifting up a finger as if to signal as the balcony doors instantaneously slid open, "I'll leave you to the others now -" His voice suddenly changed and Molly realized that he was speaking _German. _The foreign words that droned from Jim's lips withered into silence. He was gone now.

Standing alone by the balcony, wind streaking past through her hair, Molly found herself with a lot to think about. But of course she could never be alone.

"Come in, you'll get a cold." A voice called kindly.

Molly instantly recognized it as the woman she had met earlier. Met, in the loosest term.

"I think we better talk, Molly," the woman's face popped up from the side of the balcony door, "He never explains things particularly well."

Of course before she could even do anything, a hand had already dragged her inside.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven.**

* * *

><p>There was something initially comforting about the woman's face. Perhaps it was because she wasn't smirking – or smiling. Or winking. She was just looking. Releasing her grip on her, the woman stepped back and frowned at Molly tentatively.<p>

"You really need some sleep," she stated pointedly, "He was far too impatient with you."

Molly's mind bitterly said something about the fact that Jim had probably been too eager to tear her life to bits. It seemed to be very _Jim _thing to do.

"I'm okay," Molly responded back ruefully, expressing a short sigh, "I have… far worse issues to deal with."

Somehow that was jested for amusement. However what Molly received was a bowel of sympathy. The woman nodded gently and gestured towards the open door on the other side of the dining room. "It's much better there," she explained strolling forwards, "Plus you can meet Sebastian; he was far too impatient with you as well." The open door was not the exit Molly had used earlier but knowing little about the house's geography, she couldn't predict exactly what was beyond.

If she had to guess, it would be another open space living area.

* * *

><p>And it was. The room that she was led to was very similar to the living room she had seen earlier. It had the signature touch of traditional with a modern twist décor. Upon entrance, the sound of the piano playing was very noticeable and Molly rotated her head towards the grand instrument which was perched right at the corner. The music itself reminded Molly of watching <em>Don Giovanni <em>on television and jumping at every whip of the conductor's batom because of the sheer violence of the notes.

"Sebastian, play something cheery for once." The woman retorted noting Molly's grimace.

The playing ceased and Sebastian glanced up, expression strict. His eyes then slowly turned from the tall woman to Molly's trembling figure and sharply they narrowed.

"You… you wanted to talk," Molly fumbled, glancing away from him and seeking solace beneath the woman's warmer gaze.

"Oh, yes, take a seat," The woman motioned softly towards the large white couches and Molly mutely took seat upon one, memories of her encounter with Jim in the other room still pressing lewdly in her head. The dark haired woman sat across her, a delicate smile across her lips.

"So firstly, call me Adelaide," she introduced with a nod, "Sorry I didn't tell you earlier it's just that…" She shrugged broad shoulders, "Precautions, you know?"

"Okay." Molly nodded softly, knowing how little the introduction would have meant to her. She knew it sounded unkind but she would probably happily regarded Adelaide as "woman" for the rest of this journey – for as she had said earlier, there were far worse issues to deal with.

Reading Molly's expression intuitively, Adelaide jerked a thumb towards Sebastian who had stood up and was leaning against the piano, reading sheet music silently.

"That's Sebastian," Adelaide nodded before glancing back at Molly and clasping her own hands eagerly, "And to be honest, Molly – we're going to be the only _two _people you're going to need to know for now."

For now. Molly found herself instantly discomfited by both words. She couldn't see this situation as seriously as she should. It felt like the first day at work and meeting colleagues – and yet, it was nothing like that. They were two people that she imagined seeing on crime shows being wanted for murders. And they probably were murderers. Sebastian certainly looked the part. Annoyed. Irritated. Edgy.

He looked like a less cocky Jim. Adelaide appeared far more complex, but despite the evident kindness, Molly could see that there was a hot-headed individual beneath. And now, she was one of them. One of the murderers. Or, perhaps she would be used as a victim – she wasn't entirely sure what her part entailed yet. All she was sure of was that she was not going to be home any time soon.

"We don't… normally stay here long," Adelaide explained, shortly after the conversation seemed to fall into brushed silence, "so I suggest you take advantage of all the spare time you have."

The piano playing had resumed. It was a cheerier tune but Molly couldn't appreciate it as the man's indolent manner seemed to stick in her mind.

"Go to your room. Shower… I don't have clothes to spare I'm afraid," the short haired woman continued, chewing her bottom lip, "I can also bring you some food if you'd like."

Tucking a stray hair behind her ear, Molly mulled over the situation silently and then glanced up. A question formed in her mind, disregarding everything that the woman had just said.

"What is it that you do, exactly?" She asked, almost inaudibly against the sound of Sebastian's concert.

Adelaide seemed surprised. However she clearly expected some wayward questions and she simply chuckled (something Molly recalled Jim seemed to like doing whenever she said something that tugged at a nerve).

"We do what Jim tells us," she answered, "You know that."

"So is that… w-what I have to do?"

"Maybe," Adelaide exhaled a breath as she scratched dark hair, "I'm not sure…we… we didn't think you'll be…"

A short burst of silence ensued as the words seemed to linger.

"You thought I was going to pick death." Molly retorted grimly.

Stiffly, the other woman smiled.

"We always expect death." She remarked simply, nodding her head, "His recruitment methods are extreme."

"Pointing a gun at someone's head is a little… extreme." Molly answered, eyes flickering lowly knowing that 'extreme' didn't seem quite as satisfying as _madness._

She was taken by the noise of a low, derisive chuckle from Sebastian. He was hidden behind the piano but she could almost imagine his hollow eyes glaring. Adelaide seemed far more sombre with her responses and she nodded,

"Extreme is far better than when he gets imaginative," she said, "_That's _when we really expect death."

Imaginative. Molly could only shudder. Realizing that Adelaide was far easier to press with questions, Molly found her head swimming with them. She couldn't quite think incisively enough. It was all a blur and the next question was one that she hadn't expected to fall from her lips,

"Is there an escape?"

A silence. It was here that Molly noticed that Sebastian's playing had become softer, so that he could listen in to the conversation.

Adelaide's eyes were still. Molly regretted asking instantly. She felt guilty – merely because she felt it was somehow taboo and no matter how insane her thoughts had become – her morals were intact. Somehow, she felt unable to cause discomfort.

"There is only one," Adelaide finally answered, leaning back a little, "But he's offered you that already."

Death. _Fair enough. _Molly found herself nodding. "I thought that." She sighed noiselessly, gazing upwards, "He's probably going to kill me anyway."

There was so much logic Molly could give for that flippant statement. One, was because she was going to be of little use as she had little skill. That was why she worked with dead people – she couldn't really go wrong. Two, she was still convinced that her existence was a by-product of Jim's boredom. Once he got bored of her tears and her cries, he was going to shoot her dead. _Three_, she was still a good person. She was still _lackadaisical _Molly. Surely that very reason was enough to wrap the noose around her neck.

"You probably have something he wants. For example, Sebastian," Adelaide tipped her chin towards the piano delicately, "is good with guns. _Very _good. I'm good with knives. M's… rather good at most things but he does… need help… I suppose with…"

"Paperwork," Molly muttered. _Too many arrest warrants._

"You'll be surprised," Adelaide grinned taking it quite seriously, "He's organised."

Parting her lips to ask another question, Molly found herself silenced gently by Adelaide who stood up and smoothed the front of her shirt casually.

"I think we best stop for now, Molly," she responded lightly, "I'd rather you got some rest before Bastian and I waste your time further."

"You're not wasting my time." Molly interjected, blinking widely.

"Oh hush, too nice," Adelaide tutted with a sheepish grin, "C'mon Molly."

Molly wanted to talk some more. Her form showed hesitance. But she had no choice.

* * *

><p>Following Adelaide out of the living room, Molly gazed around quietly. Her companion had fallen silent just as she had when they had first met earlier in the morning. The journey to Molly's room was noiseless. It made her ill at ease how swiftly Adelaide could switch from nice to cold within a short space of time. Again, the misgivings about the woman arose.<p>

The room wasn't far. Reaching the door, a swipe card was produced. "I'll have to keep this one," Adelaide said quickly as Molly stared at it.

"So I'm not allowed… to get out of my own room."

"Obviously," the other woman answered before repeating her catchphrase from earlier, "Precautions."

"But… what if there's a fire?"

It seemed like such a Molly thing to say. So much that Adelaide chuckled, warmth returning to sober cheeks.

"He was right. You are funny," she chortled, swinging the door open, "go on."

Jim said she was funny? There were seriously sinister overtones in that. Molly blinked as she entered, chewing her bottom lip suspiciously.

"Jim said that?" she asked.

"No, Sebastian."

Adelaide nodded, quirking her head at Molly's slightly lopsided face.

That was somehow even more sinister than if Jim had said it. Pivoting around, Molly stared at the room and found herself blinking at the sheer _size _of it. It was massive. She could barely recognize it as the events that had taken place had blurred most of her memories. It all seemed so long ago suddenly that she had woken up and screamed at Adelaide's unfamiliar face.

She found her throat drying at the glass that was still left on the floor. The one she'd tried to smash on Sebastian's head.

"You'll get used to it."

Molly thought that the woman had left. Turning around and seeing her survey the room, Molly could only nod.

"You mean, the room… yeah, maybe… I –"

"No, I mean…" Adelaide smiled, a little desolately, "Everything."

Molly stared at her. For once the woman's eyes seemed honest. She recalled that the look was quite similar to the look she had given when Molly had asked her if Jim was here, earlier. It was a mix of sadness, pity and flighty amusement. But she related to it all the same and to be surrounded by a small gleam of something other than badness affected Molly austerely. Her eyes glazed over as she shook her head,

"I don't want to _do _this," she breathed, "I never wanted _anything _like this."

The one jab of honesty was intensely put but Adelaide didn't say anything back. Her expression seemed to soften at the words but her lips hindered any answer to form. She just nodded, stepped back and walked away.

It was difficult not to cry at that point. Once Molly had the thought of tears, it was always difficult to battle with the impulses that followed. However, refusing for the cameras to see her cry, she shut the door and the corridor outside with it.

* * *

><p>Silence.<p>

Nimbly, Molly manoeuvred herself towards the bed and she sat. She couldn't help but feel that this was less effective than the haven she had created in the bathroom. This place was far too large. There was light everywhere and it reminded her of where she was. Retrieving the fallen glass, Molly returned it to her coffee table and contemplated the shower. She supposed there was a bathroom here somewhere.

Whose place was this? Oh, who cared. The need to explore the place was non-existent. She felt like hiding beneath the bed – just as she had done as a child in the rainy evenings. It was here, as she was recalling those faraway memories that she noticed a phone on the table by the opposite side of her bed. Molly eyed it, tactfully before journeying to it and picking it up.

Her heart palpitated. The false hope filled her up until she heard the cold, morose silence of the lifeless phone against her ear. It was never worth a try. Dreamily, she found herself typing in her sister's home phone number, imagining how she should have done so at her birthday this year. Molly had been doing four late shifts in a row in order to afford rent payments this month and in doing so had exhaustedly forgotten her own sister's fortieth. It had upset Emily assertively; Molly was sorry. She was sorry for the disappointments. For the bitter arguments. For blaming her sister for everything although she had always watched over her.

It was all so wrong now. And she would never have the chance to make it better.

Putting the phone back, Molly lifted up and plodded deftly to the bathroom.

And there, within moments of opening the door and planting her feet onto the cold, marble flooring – Molly found herself vomiting violently into the sink. It had been an uncontrollable convulsion. A momentary lapse of control. It had somehow been held down all day, only finding release now when she felt genuinely safe. It was painful. Her throat felt inflammed as she sobbed, wiping the edges of her mouth with her hand.

She shook, taking a breath as she glanced up at the withering face in the opposite mirror. Her cheery, sad face looked ill. She was never that happy. But she never looked this hideous before. She couldn't _do _this to herself. Although Jim had stolen most of it, Molly only hoped she could keep a grain of self respect to keep. Because she was alone now.

Quivering brusquely, she turned on the taps to clean the sink and then stepped swiftly into the shower. The moment she heard the water, it was peace. The rest of the world seemed to fade against the cascade of water despite the fear stirring within the pits of her stomach. There was little that Molly could do with the simple, unadorned luxury. She could only appreciate it for what it was.

As she listened to the clash of water, a memory appeared in Molly's thoughts. Jim and Jim's coffee. The initial meeting. It had been a while ago but the pictures itself remained vivid.

He had been nice. She had been pathetically doting. But Jim's grave, unfeeling eyes had been there all along. All of the niceness that he exuded was all from words. All from his appearance. But his eyes. They had always been _dead. _

If only she'd paid more attention. If she had just looked _further_ than what his lips said, she would have seen his eyes twisting her into nothingness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I have to revise quite faithfully from today onwards so I'll have to see how many updates I can do. Not long until the first part ends, so I hope readers stay reading. I will fulfil the promise of shorter chapters I hope soon. Thank you. Enjoyment is what I write for so I hope you did. I am in the process of writing one-shots so if you have any prompts/ideas you'd like to give me - please please do. Because I'm not imaginative. Especially if it's Jim-Based. If it's Jim based - you'll make me happy.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

><p>Trembling, Molly dressed herself silently. She glanced around the glossy, marble bathroom and realised how much the whole place resembled a hotel. It did not have the cosy, personalised feeling of a home. It was all too burnished – new. Something about it was offish and cold. Jim had suggested that it was a holiday home so perhaps it was. She found little comfort in that. It was worsened by the miserable fact that she still had no idea where she was. As far as she knew, she was knocked out for more than ten hours. They could have brought her to Newquay – or to Venice in that time. She simply didn't know.<p>

Wiping her eyes sensitively, she staggered out of the bathroom, drying her hair with one of the towels. It occurred to her that she had no hairbrush to arrange her hair anyway. _Goodness. _

A small, sad smile quirked at the side of her lips as she thought about how trivial those matters appeared now. She recalled those endless hours staring at the mirror, self consciously nitpicking at everything about herself. She had always been so painfully insecure. From a young age to now, it had always been the same, innocent thoughts in Molly's head. _Why don't men like me? Am I that ugly? Am I that dumb? _At the time, it had been life changing queries. It was all petty now. Against the backdrop of abduction, of death and of Jim Moriarty – all those insecurities seemed inconsequential.

Lumbering forwards, moist feet making misty footsteps on the bedroom floor, Molly blinked as a previously unseen object seemed to have appeared on the surface of her bed. It was a tray. Hands pausing for a moment, Molly found the towel slipping from her grasp as she emerged into the bedroom and glanced at the lone figure musing by the door. The burning thought of who it may be paralysed her body systems – until she realized who the figure was.

"Oh," Adelaide smiled, rotating and facing Molly curtly, "Sorry, did I surprise you?"

* * *

><p>Molly's heart slowed, her breaths soothed. It was shocking to her that her systems trusted Adelaide so quickly. As much as Molly hated to think of it, the woman was her abductor too. No amount of polite amicableness could possibly change that.<p>

"A little," she answered faintly, eyes drawing towards the concealed tray, "what's that?"

The Irish woman grinned lopsidedly. "Food of course," she remarked sauntering forwards, bemused by the doe eyed look on Molly's face, "didn't I tell you I would bring some?"

"Yes you did," Molly affirmed, giving the tray a longing stare before glancing up at Adelaide apologetically, "-but Adelaide, I'm not hungry."

It was here that Molly realised that the woman was tugging at the collars of a thick, long purple coat. _Going somewhere? _She blinked, thoughtful and silent as Adelaide nodded understandingly. Smoothly scratching the top of black coloured hair, she folded her arms and with a large sigh progressed on to perch onto the top of the bed.

Motioning for Molly to sit across her, Adelaide passed her a slightly remorseful smile. "If you don't eat now," she stated, unfolding her arms and pulling the cover off the tray revealing a meagre offering of a cup of soup and a juice box, "I'm afraid you won't be eating for a few hours."

Feeling the cold, dampness of her hair seeping through the back of her shirt, Molly obliged and sat, the smell of the soup reaching her systems instantly. It was not a fantastic reception. Her body seemed to recoil against the thought of consumption. The nausea, exhaustion and the sheer stress of the past few hours had clearly drained her appetite clean. She stared at Adelaide who was noticeably fidgety.

"Are you going somewhere?" Molly asked, taking a short breath as the other woman seemed to chuckle gently.

"_We _are." Adelaide corrected, straightening up and folding her arms once again, "All of us. And when we travel, there are no rest stops."

"We?" Molly's eyes were bloodshot, "w-where?"

Adelaide smiled, somewhat innocently before gesturing towards the food again, "It's going to be a long journey, Molly," she nodded, "you won't get any better unless you eat something."

The paleness in Molly's face returned as she glanced at the food, her tongue shrivelling at the very thought of the cold metal spoon through her lips. If it was necessary though. She should. And there was something about Adelaide's way of talking that suggested the truth. It was necessary for her to eat.

"Eat quick," Adelaide murmured, deceivingly keen as she gestured towards the soup, "we don't have long to get down."

"Are you sure… this is safe?" Molly murmured, knowing what had happened the last time she had released her guard.

The dark haired woman grinned widely. "I told you," she uttered, shaking her head, "only the boys play dirty."

"Thank you." Molly blurted out, eyeing her as her eyes glazed up again. Adelaide's large dark eyes seemed to glimmer, just a little as Molly obediently began to scoop the warm tasting liquid into her mouth. It was unmistakably filling – yet her body still seemed to detest the notion of food. She wasn't sure how many times she had to repress the urge to gag as she finished the cup, nauseous and rather pasty faced.

Adelaide noticed and pursed her lips. "I'm sure you'll thank me later," she advised before springing up from the bed and pulling something out of the large wardrobe by the side.

"Here, wear this," Molly blinked as a large, cream coat fell onto her lap. It did not take long for her to recognize it as the coat Jim had offered to her in London. Her fingers hovered over the surface as she shuddered, the feeling of losing consciousness lacing around the fabric. It had all been a blur yet the object was embedded with memories that she could just recall. The coat had been a symbol of Jim's abduction. She did not want to wear it again.

However, Adelaide's restlessness was becoming more significant as the Irish woman wandered towards the door and pulled it open. "Please," she pleaded with a breathless huff, "tell me you are going to come."

Clutching the coat close to her, Molly noted the _Dior _label on the back and felt herself shudder. Hesitantly, and with icy eyes, Molly stood and wore the coat. She was shaking. It was probably from fear. Perhaps also, from the feverishness that had plagued her since waking up. Buttoning up, she trudged towards Adelaide deftly.

"Its okay, Molly," Adelaide soothed with a nod, "you don't have to be scared."

"My ex boyfriend is a master criminal who basically murdered my friends and has _abducted _me," Molly muttered, shaking her head as she came out of the doorway, "… I think scared is an understatement, Adelaide."

"I know," the other woman nodded, clearly unsettled by Molly's mumble, "but didn't I say you would get used to it?"

It was clear that Adelaide was refusing to understand. Molly sighed and glanced away.

She decided simply that she would just stay quiet as they began to wander down the dark corridor outside of her bedroom. It was here that she heard the first whimper of the storm. She snapped her head back and blinked surprisingly at the army of grey clouds that seemed to have accumulated just an hour or so since she had been out on the balcony with Jim. Not knowing the time of day, Molly estimated that it was only around midday. And yet, the gathering greyness seemed to steal all the light.

Suddenly, the illuminated house appeared a lot graver.

"I thought it was always sunny here." She retorted, recalling Jim's words as they descended down a flight of spiralling stairs.

"Not always," Adelaide answered quietly, glancing up, "but it's never looked this bad."

Shivering, Molly scampered down the steps, feeling like the weather was telling her something. It seemed that England was following her somewhat. Watching over her, perhaps? She truly, hoped so.

Someone out there had to be, for her sake.

* * *

><p>Tucked protectively beneath her coat, Molly followed Adelaide until they reached the downstairs of the house. It was an absolutely unforgettable hallway. Portraits. Sculptures. Long, exotic plants. Molly was a little dumbfounded by the extravagance as she numbly followed Adelaide out of the large, arched door. It was held open for them. She suppressed a shiver as she involuntarily stepped outdoors. Of course, it was there was when the peaceful, beautiful world of the house seemed to die away behind her.<p>

In front of her was a line of three expensive-looking cars – two black and one red. They had black tinted windows and figures strolled across her, robotically, surrounding the cars like a swarm. To her, they all had similar faces; most were pale, wearing long coats of different colours, carrying countless objects in various cases and pushing them into the backs of the vehicles. A lot of them were in conversation with each other – all of them disregarding the world around them. Molly squealed a little as a man squeezed past her, muttering an emblematic apology as he trudged down, not even passing her a second stare. It was a completely alien sight to her – something she could not even wholly describe.

Turning to her side, the colour on Molly's features faded as she realized that Adelaide was missing.

"Adelaide?" she whimpered, pocketing her hands as she glanced around.

Feeling the need to leave the doorway, Molly wandered forwards, "Adelaide?" she called out, quietly slipping through the gap between the red and the black car, "_Adelaide_?" She could hear the sharp hum of voices of the figures that seemed to conceal the cars but she could not comprehend them. They were all tall, somewhat intimidating and Molly felt herself growing smaller and smaller as the panic swelled within her chest that she had lost the only person that could help her through this mass of strangers.

But then, a hand brushed past the top of her shoulder blade. She turned instantly, eyes wide at the sight of Sebastian's long, sombre face.

"You look lost," he said dryly, examining her with distant eyes, "don't walk when you don't know where to go; you'll just get in the way."

Molly could feel her eyes glaze fearfully at his words. He seemed so aloof – that it was petrifying. She opened her mouth, plagued by the need to say something back - but then his head turned from her and turned towards two figures passing by him with shiny, black cases.

"Not there," he stated with an annoyed pant, "I said _there_," Sebastian jerked a finger at the open trunk of the red car on which he was leaning on. Evidently sulky, the tall man shook his head and muttered, glancing around – overseeing the other wrong activities that the idiots around him seemed to be accomplishing.

The woman across him just watched his eyes, finding him undeniably scary. Molly could see the way that the intimidating men responded to Sebastian. By his reprimanding, their intimidation seemed to wither and they were instantly _belittled _by his gaze. It was the scariest of feats. She gazed at him, expecting his attention to return to her – until a figure emerged by the doorway across. Molly could see it clearly from where she stood. The business around her seemed to carry on however Sebastian had turned completely, like a magnetic pole attracted to his opposite.

"Everything's ready." She heard Sebastian mutter, as he jogged up to Jim keenly.

* * *

><p>On Jim's face was a permanent grimace.<p>

He did not look like the swaggering, cocky beast Molly had known him to be. His lips were pursed – _pouted _even, and his teeth were clenched. A disdainful expression replaced the smug quirk that lined his lips and his dark eyes were concealed beneath a pair of large aviator sunglasses. He was dressed in a long, black coat and around him was the gentleman she had seen earlier – the owner of the house, chatting happily with Sebastian. He flicked his head, bottom lip curling as Sebastian leaned into his ear and whispered something. Jim did not reply and simply kept his head straight as he began to walk.

The moment he began to walk, Molly found herself retreating to the side, in fear that he would see her. He did pass by her in the end as he entered the black car in front of the red one she hid behind. However, he completely disregarded her. Jim walked forwards, distant and aloof as the company of coated men followed him. Molly was rather surprised that he did for she had never seen him appear so austere. He seemed to have completely forgotten the business that existed outside his bubble. She found that _serious _Jim appeared considerably sinister than overconfident Jim.

But at least he was gone.

Standing up, rather bravely, Molly blinked as Sebastian then appeared in front of her – akin to the position he retained earlier. He was looking at her again, as if he had momentarily forgotten her identity. But then the remoteness in his face faded and an instance of pure nonchalance. He said nothing, so Molly did too. Of course, the second her beating her calmed - the threat of harm returned.

Sebastian outstretched a silver hand gun with one flick and pointed it steadily towards the centre of her neck.

Molly's heart stopped as she eyed him, breathless.

His hands then flipped the gun over, offering her the grip instead. "Take it," he said simply, pushing it at her, chin nodding, "Go."

"I..." Molly tried to compose herself, still disoriented by the sight of the weapon, "w-w-what?"

"Take it." Sebastian repeated, narrowing grave blue eyes, "It's not hard."

"_No_," She found herself stepping back and shaking her head, mortified, "I - I don't... I... I..." Take the gun? Had he lost it? Molly found herself gawping hopelessly for air as Sebastian eyed her, face uncompromising.

It was here when a different voice ruptured the conversation.

* * *

><p>The woman in the purple coat, appeared entirely absorbed in her words.<p>

"Everything's done up there. M's a little impatient to leave and - _Molly_, there you are." Adelaide glanced curiously at Molly's trembling, ashen face. Gazing up at her colleague, large eyes fell on the gun and it all instantly clicked.

She passed Sebastian a short, adamant stare before stepping forwards. "I'll... I'll deal with this," she stated, outstretching a hand to take the gun, "I think Newall is getting arsey over the Lexus." The dark haired woman referred to the first of the cars and then pursed her lips as Sebastian seemed to smirk. "Hand it over, Seb." she stated coldly as the pale man shrugged and walked away, passing Molly a final, glowing stare.

Waiting until the man had walked a few metres, Adelaide quickly turned towards Molly who looked like she had turned into a statue.

"Sorry, about him," she murmured, "He's... he's just not patient, that's all." Passing the brunette a small, sheepish grin, she held the grip of the gun within her hand as Molly stared at it disdainfully.

"I'm... not... _carrying _a gun." Molly stated firmly, images of _shooting _someone - or herself - flashing through her mind.

"You have to," Adelaide rasped, offering the gun with a nod, "it's for your own safety... the roads aren't safe."

Molly shook her head, quivering, "No, Adelaide. I won't," she gazed at the glimmering weapon, repulsed, "Please... don't make me."

Sensing the fear, the woman expressed a long sigh.

"It's alright. You won't... it's just," she smiled, "_Precautions_, you know?"

Molly didn't respond.

"Everyone here has a gun," Adelaide sighed, shaking her head sombrely, "And it shouldn't be something you dread; it's good to be able to protect yourself."

Again, Molly didn't respond. She stared at Adelaide, mutely as the figures around them began to scatter. The woman knew instantly that it was time to leave. Repressing the urge to sigh loudly, she gently moved forwards and with delicate fingers scooped up one of Molly's trembling hands and unclasped fingers that were digging painfully into her palm.

"_Just_, keep it with you." She stated kindly, before pressing the grip of the gun into Molly's palm and enclosing her fingers around it.

Before she could even muster a response, Molly found herself being dragged by Adelaide into the red car. The woman pulled the car door open and nodded for her to get inside.

"You'll be riding with Sebastian." The black haired woman affirmed, somewhat quietly.

"W-What?" Molly blinked, shaking her head a little as her fingers involuntarily gripped the handle of the gun, "No... Adelaide..."

"It's okay," Adelaide swiftly assured with a smile, "There's - there's a _status _quo when it comes to travelling, Molly. It changes sometimes, but it's always Sebastian inside the vehicle behind M's. That's how it works."

"I can't!"

"Trust me, you're in the safest of the cars."

Noting Molly's face, Adelaide sighed.

"I'll see you... soon."

With a sad smile, the woman shut the door with a gentle _thud. _

* * *

><p>Seated in wet silence, Molly found herself flinching as two men entered the car, occupying the seats at the front. She had no idea who they were and they did very little to affirm her presence. One was evidently, the driver. The other, was carrying a briefcase. Neither was Sebastian. This simply meant that she would have to ride with him in the passenger seat. The notion of spending a few hours beneath the man's cold, incomprehensible gaze was making her stomach squirm. It seemed like a cruel punishment and she wished that she had never left Adelaide so perhaps they would have been riding together instead.<p>

The car door opened. She restrained from staring as Sebastian entered, his tall lean figure just managing to fit into the large passenger space. He seemed to be moving around, and carried a silver laptop which he positioned on his lap. He seemed to stop his movements. Molly supposed that that must have been the moment he realised that she was riding with him. Unable to resist the temptation to stare much longer, Molly weakly glanced at Sebastian who had narrowed eyes fixated at her.

A short, humourless smile appeared to cross his lips.

"You dropped your gun." He stated calmly, gesturing towards the gun that had slipped through her fingers and had fallen on the vehicle floor.

Molly blushed deeply, fumbling as she swiftly retrieved it, feeling the cold metal tease her clammy palm.

"See, that wasn't difficult," Sebastian retorted, watching her enquiringly, "Now, put on your seat belt. It's safety first in this car…"

A small row of manly snickers hummed from the men at the front.

Molly palely obliged, feeling herself grow sweaty as she edged herself closer to her window to part from him. He was still watching her, until she heard a small murmur which distracted his attentions.

"Yes," His finger was pressed on a device over his ear, "It's in Vienna. I've emailed you the address… _Christ _knows. Don't… oh, Grim you bitch."

She wasn't entirely sure who Sebastian was talking to. However, it was clearly on some business matter. Perhaps, that was why all the boxes were there. They were delivering something to Vienna. Sebastian was nodding as the car's engine was initiated. He flipped the top of the laptop open and turned it on.

"… I don't know," the blonde man sighed, "probably going to – _five _million. Yes. Look… speak to me later."

Grumbling, a small _beep _emitted.

"Yes… yes, boss," Sebastian nodded, his naturally low register making the words seem more prominent against the silence, "Okay… I'll tell her."

_Her_? Molly could only pray that there was some other woman. Adelaide perhaps. _Someone _else. Boss, it could only be Jim of course. Shivering lightly as the conversations seemed to pass, she found herself too slow at avoiding Sebastian's stare.

He stared at her, as unfeelingly as he had done countless times. And then, he smiled.

"Boss says… hello," Sebastian articulated plainly before glancing down at his laptop and beginning to type.

Molly nodded, feeling instantly ill as the car moved forwards. She gazed up and saw the back of the black Mercedes that Jim was in. She could only envisage him staring at her from there, watching. Turning her eyes, she felt her insides squirm as she realized that the man at the front was inspecting a _rifle. _He was holding it, adoringly and it seemed to be a perfectly normal thing to do as no-one said a word.

* * *

><p>Sebastian was evidently busy. It pained Molly how uneasy the sound of the tapping keyboard made her.<p>

She leaned back on the seat and found herself glancing out of the tinted windows, just as the first of the rain drops began to splatter against the glass.

Taking a silent sigh, her fingers felt the gun and she felt the need to throw it away from her. To shove it discreetly beneath the side of the seat for Sebastian to not notice. However, she found herself holding it like a comfort blanket. It was going to be a few hours and she trusted _nobody _in this car.

It was better to keep safe even if she had no idea how to shoot.

Glancing down, Molly softly lifted the gun from her lap and inspected it. If she was to shoot, would it like be in the movies? This momentary lapse in her thoughts allowed for her thinking to become somewhat disjointed. Curiously, her fingers leaned towards the trigger, eyeing and envisaging _what _exactly it was like –

"I suggest not pulling it," Sebastian drawled from beside her, cocking up his head from his laptop, "I wouldn't be very happy if you did."

"What… what makes you think I wouldn't?" Molly blurted out, modestly unsure how or where the outburst could have resonated from.

The amused gleam appeared in his eyes. "_Well_, if you did, I would have to shoot you." The man smiled before exhaling, "And we wouldn't want to be tapping into that business again, _would _we Molly?"

Molly paled as he clenched his jaw and stared. His eyes grew firm.

"The boss might like playing with you, Hooper," Sebastian stated coldly, leaning forwards "but _I _don't." Shaking his head, he returned to his earlier position and pursed his lips icily, "Now put it down."

The gun almost fell from her fingertips as she allowed it back onto her lap.

She couldn't deny the sheer intimidation Sebastian resonated. It was like a toxic drug.

"I'm…I'm sorry," Molly managed, recoiling back into her position and staring pointlessly at the rain.

* * *

><p>Sebastian's eyes swivelled back to his work. Chewing his bottom lip for a few moments, the man found himself opening a new window. Within it, he clicked on a name and typed in the box:<p>

_She's interested in the gun_.

A reply appeared within seconds.

_Oh, really?_

The three dots to indicate the person typing appeared before the next few words illuminated the screen:

_See, I told you. She's not a lost cause._

Sebastian smirked.

_I never said she was boss._

He could only imagine the austere smile plastered on the other man's face. The fact was that due to the Vienna business, his employer had not been in a magnificent mood. This could perhaps elevate the miseries even a little.

_Please, you wanted to kill her. _

A second later:

_Be nice and don't kill each other. I don't know which one of you I would miss more._

Sebastian responded:

_Yes boss._

Finishing the conversation, Sebastian's eyes glanced casually at the woman who was slumped, eyes watching the slow descend of rain drops.

He couldn't help but feel a short amount of pity for the woman who simply looked like she was on the edge of losing her sanity altogether. As Grim – or Adelaide as Molly called her – had said, Sebastian had an incredibly short patience with other people. The only person that bypassed his temper was Jim and that was down to the superiority. There was a hierarchy in this business and in his eyes Molly Hooper was sitting prettily at the bottom of it. It was a surprise, a _nice _surprise to see that the morgue assistant he had watched since Jim had began the whole debacle with Sherlock Holmes was more than the dumb, desperate idiot she had primarily appeared to be. However, it would take a lot more for Sebastian to _play _nice.

He did not get to be in his position by being nice to every recruit. After all, most of Molly's predecessors were glaring disappointments. He had ended up knowing, trusting, shooting and _burying _them. But they had all been skilled somewhat. The recruits had been skilled mercenaries, academics, people that had connections to monarchies and governments. So, _why_ Hooper.

He supposed he would never know; to break through James Moriarty's mind resembled trying to break through a solid steel ball with a plastic _spoon. _Even after the years of knowing each other, Sebastian knew that he was sure about very little when it came to his employer. But, they had learnt to mutually trust each other- at least Sebastian liked to think so.

"You'll make the nausea worse if you stare out the window," Sebastian retorted lightly as he flicked the brunette a short glance.

But then, it occured to him that she was sleeping.

Her head leaned against the cold, damp window while one hand concealed the gun closely. The man blinked and then shook his head with a bemused expression. He supposed that it was probably interesting than whenever she was in a car, she always seemed to be unconscious one way or another.

"Hooper," he murmured beneath his breath as he opened up her files and glanced over them. Her life story of certificates, exam reports, diplomas all kept in her folder.

Sebastian liked to know his employees from top-to-toe. But there was clearly something about the woman that he missed. There was something that she was being kept for. Either way, he would probably keep from asking his boss too much information.

After all, the Irish man's temper was a force to be reckoned with - even for a trained army man like himself.

* * *

><p>Molly was dreaming.<p>

She was sitting on a park bench, feeding the ducks as she did on alternate Sundays when she was off. There was the usual round of figures around her. A family walking by, complete with the double pushchair for the twins. An old couple sitting a few benches next to her. There was a couple canoodling by the tree. A dog walker. A woman checking out the dog walker. There were teenagers, chattering happily in a circle.

It all looked so perfect until an invisible voice drawled deliciously in her ear,

_"Kill them all_."

Her eyes turned to the gun positioned indolently next to her. The voice was speaking. _"Start with them." _Molly's eyes swivelled calmly to the hunched, elderly couple cooing over the ducks that were pecking peacefully around them.

Her hand fished for the gun, face barely flinching.

She stood up, fingers circling the trigger. _"Good girl_," the voice murmured, _"Now, shoot my dear."_

The order was clear and concise.

_Boom._

Molly found herself jolting awake as the sound of the trigger echoed through her thoughts. Glancing around, it was silence with Sebastian tapping away at his laptop. He glanced up, noticing the utter shock in her face then shrugged it off returning to his work.

_Only a dream_, she told herself, blinking away tears that seemed to have formed at the sides of her eyes.

It was here that she noticed the gun embraced by her hand. Resiliently, she released it and with gleaming eyes, pressed her head fearfully against the door. The dream had collided with her for it had looked so real. The images of the people suddenly appeared in her head and she realized that they had all been her neighbours. All of them. Down to the teenagers. She had to stifle a cry as she folded her arms and shivered feverishly.

It would never happen, she had to tell herself, _it was only a dream_. It had been Jim's voice - undeniably his rich, accent-fevered voice. However, it remained a dream. Nothing but a figment of fantasy. But still, it bothered her.

And what had bothered Molly the most was how unfeeling her dream self had been once she retrieved her weapon. How steady, how unruffled she seemed to be. Jim could not be right about her. Molly _cared. _Molly cared a lot about other people. She couldn't ever do anything so heartless. "Don't think about it," she whispered breathlessly to herself as she flickered her eyes shut and drowned the world out.

She soon fell back to sleep. This time, there were no dreams.

Just a sea of shadowy peace.

* * *

><p><strong>an: I have to apologise as to how long that was. I can't even type anymore. Anyway, Adelaide is an OC :D to IdrisLady. Jim looks a lot like the Jim in 01x02 to those who have seen it. Grimacing, unhappy man. Anyway, hope you enjoyed as much as I enjoyed writing it. Many thanks for the lovely feedback - you feed my egotistical muse generously :D <strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

><p>The majority of the journey sped by Molly's conscious thoughts. The only point she remembered waking up was a quick car change where someone had mumbled in her ear and asked her to get up – most likely, Sebastian - and she had been pushed into another seat. Drowsy and tired, Molly had allowed for the car movements to embody a safe haven. She had slept deeply and minutely. It had been nice in a way for the harmless reverie of blackness seemed to stretch to eternity. It had been Sebastian's low, prickly voice that had woken her completely in the end.<p>

"Hooper," he barked gently, as if cautious to startle her, "wake up."

Molly had jolted awake despite his diffidence and she found her eyes blurry. Rubbing them sorely, she gazed around and made out a shadow in the darkness. Focusing her gaze thoughtfully, Sebastian's unsmiling face formed in the darkness and welcomed her. She swallowed intuitively and murmured a, "Oh. Sorry."Blushing gawkily, she gazed around, still a little bewildered by her surroundings.

She was definitely still in a car. Elbowing the door beside her as she tried to disentangle herself from her seat belt, Molly yelped as the door was then pulled open. She had expected a cascade of bright light but it was dark outside. _How long was I asleep_? Biting her lower lip, she gazed up at an unfamiliar face. It was a man. He had filthy blonde hair scraped upwards in a clumsy sort of ruffle. A light brushing of facial hair covered a prudishly handsome face and large, friendly blue eyes watched Molly's gawkish reaction subtly. Bemused, the man cleared his throat.

"Uh, sorry to surprise you Miss, but I need you out of the car," His accent was typically southern english– it bore a semblance to Sebastian's actually, which was probably why the sense of urgency suddenly returned to Molly.

"—oh, okay," she answered, a little flustered as she quickly clambered out, "Sorry, it's fine."

Molly supposed that it had been the surprise of seeing a new face that had overcome her and caused her giddiness to escalate. Plus, the disorientation of waking up after such a long sleep. Evidently though, her tiredness had not intimidated her _overly girly _nature as shown by her shameless show of overexcitement at the ocean eyed man. It was not her fault though; no matter how ludicrous and serious the situation, she was still herself. And Molly Hooper was an unabashed, fan girl at heart.

_Grow up. _Her mind cut in abrasively as she looked around at the dark street where the car was parked. Eyes still a little fuzzy, Molly glanced around and found herself turning to the blonde man once again whose tall frame was positioned by the open trunk of the car. _The car is blue_, her mind obediently nodded as she decided that there had been a definite car change – not just a lapse in her sanity.

"Um, excuse me," she murmured, a little confused as to where Sebastian was, "but do you know where we are?"

The man eyed her, carrying a lone black brief case in one hand. He quirked his head – as if briefly confused - then smiled,

"Yes, actually Miss, we're at –"

"—c'mon Newall, _stop _flirting with my Molly!"

The voice was familiar. Painfully so. Molly found herself flinching as she listened to Jim's long, scratched footsteps against the concrete surface. She turned her head a little, sensing his distance and began to fidget as he reached her.

"Morning, my little _sleeping beauty_," the Irish man drawled, smirk plastered across wide lips, "I hope you're feeling better."

Molly gazed up at him. Sebastian was right behind, leaning against the blue car. His tall, harrowing figure seemed ominous in the blackness – swirls of mist clouded his shadow, resonating from the cigarette he was smoking. The seemingly kind, blue eyed man had disappeared – clearly dismantled by Jim's appearance. He was still wearing the long, heady coat she remembered but his large brown eyes were no longer hidden behind glasses.

"Where are we, Jim?" Molly asked, belittled by his stare.

The man's smirk faded as he flicked his gaze lowly.

"Home." He stated simply, before turning his head towards Sebastian, "Has everything been unloaded?"

"—my half has," Sebastian responded rolling his tongue inside his cheek thoughtfully as he drew in the cigarette smoke, "Lord knows about Newall." Exhaling, the man expressed a contented sigh before allowing the cigarette to fall from his fingertips. He glanced down before crushing it beneath his shoes.

"Remind me to speak to him." Jim stated in a rather bored tone as he averted his attention back to Molly.

"Home?" Molly managed.

"Yes," the man repeated, heaving a theatrical sigh, "do I have to repeat everything with you? Honestly, Molly. _Sometimes_, speaking to you is exhausting."

Chuckling a little, the dark haired man shook his head and then began to saunter down the street with Sebastian following.

"C'mon," the blonde man murmured as Molly stayed behind, wide-eyed.

"—but, Sebastian –"

"Don't argue. Just _follow_."

Molly supposed that the line must be Sebastian's motto as she nodded and eagerly ushered after him.

* * *

><p>Home, was not what Molly had expected.<p>

But it was exactly, what Molly received. Sebastian had faded away in the progress up the short flight of stairs that led to this extraordinary _hive_. It was a flat – a simple, ordinary flat. However it resembled more of a library. It had a Jacobean theme – carpets, pieces of art everywhere but had the _Apple Mac _on the coffee table as well. It was massive, not very well lit and entirely different to how she had perceived Jim's living quarters to be. She had imagined lavishness – expensiveness – but not to this extent. No. This was almost _classy. _Books lined large shelves. A quarry of large couches against a fireplace. She was sure that it was probably smaller than it appeared (somehow) but it did look massive.

"You like it." Jim piped up, disturbing her speechless reservoir.

"—oh, it's…" Molly was a little short of words as she sauntered forwards, eyes drawn to the large, glass windows, "it's… really nice."

She could hear him laughing. Molly only blushed, aware of how unimaginative she was with her words. Hand rubbing up and down her coat, she gazed around feeling somewhat self conscious. Her eyes looked towards Jim who had shed off his coat to reveal a suit and was in the process of unbuttoning his blazer.

"Make yourself at home, Molly," Jim offered, neatly hanging up his coat on a hook at a wall, "_Don't _be messy though; god, I hate mess."

She found herself gawping a little - remembering the first time he'd entered her flat. This hatred for mess would explain his expression when he had been exposed to Molly's pig sty of a home. She had never been particularly meticulous with neatness.

Swallowing, she wandered forwards, eyes drawn towards the eternal lines of books and texts. They all looked rather old. And _coordinated_. She couldn't quite read the titles but they were certainly not the books she was a fan of. Molly doubted deeply that Jim owned any of the _Confessions of a Shopaholic _series.

"How was the journey?" Jim continued probing, as he watched her delightedly, "Seb told me you slept well. I'm glad you did as you didn't look well the last time we talked."

"Well, I was drugged." Molly miserably answered as she blinked at him.

"Oh hush," He grinned before gesturing towards the coffee table beside him where a bottle of wine was stood, "Wine?"

"—uh, no, thanks." Molly denied, knowing she was going to have to be particularly cautious about Jim and _drinks. _

The man seemed a little confused.

"Your loss," he shrugged, scooping up the wine and reading the label, "No good food in this flat I'm afraid – just good wine. _Maybe_, later hm?"

Molly nodded, bobbing her head up and down as she gazed around.

"You have a lot of books," she remarked casually.

"Hm," Jim nodded, following her gaze and proudly passing his collection a vacant glance, "Not much variety I'm afraid. The majority are mathematics based. Science too – never was into fiction."

Molly blinked, gazing at Jim who was offhandedly musing with her. He seemed somewhat _easier _to speak to. His tone of voice seemed to have lost its sarcastic bite. In a way, it was nice. More than nice. Really, nice.

"You… you like Maths?" She asked, knowing that she was trying to goad him off as much information before he grew cocky and _enigmatic_ again.

The dark haired man nodded enthusiastically, stretching his neck as he reached for the bottle of wine and jerked the cork open with a finger. _Red_, his mind noted as he scrunched up his nose. This must still have been the wine he had remembered drinking last time. Lunacy. He hated red wine. Oh, but _who cared._

This night was a lot more special than normal.

"I _love _maths," Jim shared, taking the bottle and sauntering towards his small kitchen and scooped up a wine glass, "What's not to love?"

Molly could tell that he did. Diplomas were everywhere. Framed, and somehow a little overshadowed by the pieces of art that was hung beside them.

"I studied Maths in Queens Belfast," the man nodded, "did my Masters in California. _Contemplating_, my PhD. Not sure. A bit torn. Maths or Physics… Maths or Physics…" A wolfish smile crossed his face as he laughed, "Dilemmas. Maybe both even! _God _knows."

It was difficult _not _to be impressed. Jim was _smart. _Smarter than she could have ever estimated. "Physics too," she breathed, eyes beginning to absorb the various titles of the books as she approached them.

"Of course," Jim answered pouring the red wine into the glass, audaciously amused by Molly's curiosity. He arched a brow before devilishly asking,

"Have I impressed you?"

"—Definitely." Molly answered, blinking as she gazed back at him. She was blushing. "Uh, it's just that… maths… maths is hard… you know."

Feeling tremendously silly, Molly could now see that his criminalities really _were _of genius standard. He wasn't just insane – he was insanely intelligent. A deadly, combination. The collection of diplomas from the universities stole her attention next.

Jim was watching her, contented.

"I've always been good at Maths. _Written _a few books too – under aliases, of course. Man like me can't get _too_ famous." He retorted, knowing how well-received the texts had been. One of them had been written at a tender age of twenty. Of course, the standard of the work had been beyond his age range. The world's most unknown criminal was _acclaimed_ and adored and nobody knew.

Shame, really.

"I do love Physics too," Jim continued, "Chemistry, _sometimes._ And when I'm really bored, I read Psychology. But only when I'm desperate…."

"—oh, that's—"

"_Yes_, Philosophy as well. There's some _Beauvoir _and _Nietzsche _down that shelf," He paused, "Feel free to take any of the books out. Just remember to put it back in the right place _of course._"

He winked, lifted the glass and sipped the wine thoughtfully. She was still looking like an adorable, deer in the headlights. Confused. _Stunned. _And yet, positively impressed. It was the type of face that screamed _"pinch my cheeks"_. Just, precious.

"Odd, yes?" Jim quirked, watching as she turned around, pale-faced, "Jimmy from _IT. _Actually, a mathematics _genius. _I'm good with computers too. But Maths is blood."

"That's —" Molly found herself stopping as she felt her cheeks go red at the thought.

"—yes?" Jim poked, curious.

"Oh... nothing," she murmured, hiding her face a little, "I was just going to say that - _that _would explain why you were so good at _Countdown_... when we watched it in my flat..."

Her mumbles were sinking in tone as she shook her head stupidly. "I'm – I'm sure you don't remember… it was such a ridiculously long time ago –" she found herself blinking as the man across began to shake his head.

"No," Jim dismissed, biting his lower lip, "Of course I remember."

It had been a rather rainy afternoon. Jim had taken her home and the first channel showed a rerun of _Countdown. _Preparing tea, Molly had watched bemusedly as the IT worker worked out every maths problem far quicker than the clock. She had giggled at it; _such an adorable nerd_, she had noted.

Now, it all seemed a lot sillier.

Molly blinked at him, somewhat rueful as she allowed for an inhibited silence to take over. He was sipping the wine, swirling the liquid in the glass and yet his eyes never left her.

"I'm scaring you." Jim offered, taking another sip justly noting her stare

"Always," Molly managed, chewing her bottom lip hotly, "You always scare me."

She had expected him to smirk. Or laugh. Or chuckle. But no. The man stood, almost authoritative in manner as he watched her – logically deciphering her answer into little bits to analyse.

"You _lied _to me." Molly added, shaking her head as if to shake off all the notability of Jim's life. All the bits that had distracted her from the real issues. The fact was that no matter how intelligent, Jim was _not _a proper man. He was a _criminal._

She shouldn't ever forget that.

"Not about everything," Jim answered a little defensive as he leaned against the wall, "I _don't _eat meat. I do like IT. I drink beer. I'm from Dublin –"

"—you never told me you were a murderer."

Molly interjected bitterly.

A short charged silence took over and Jim soon broke it with a _hm _sound. He crossed his arms and took another sip of the wine. Nodding his head back and forth in thought, the man gritted his teeth and expressed a large, breathless sigh. His eyes swivelled to her, somewhat wearily.

"Yes, well," he answered, quirking his head at her, "I suppose there _was _that."

"—it's not funny, Jim." Molly murmured, glancing down at her shoes, "I _stood _up for you. They were telling me you were a murderer... I said—" _it couldn't possibly have been you._

Unfolding his arms, Jim observed the sudden sadness that had fallen on the woman's face. It was an expression that Jim had been exposed to ever since meeting her. She was always sad. Sad, little Mollybear. Her face a miserable emblem of her relatively, miserable existence.

"Oh, well that was sweet of you darling!" Jim crooned, shaking his head and watching as her face gazed up attentively.

Feeling the need to lowerthe tension, just a notch - Jim found himself turning to his _third _favourite thing in the world over Maths and Physics. Elegantly, the man pranced over to his lone music player.

"Apologies for the lack of a television," He nodded, "I just _hate _watching it. It's full of bollocks."

He knew how Molly was unhealthily attached to hers. It seemed only natural that she would be vaguely disappointed that he didn't own one.

"Now," Jim chirped, gazing back at the woman cheerily, "_Please_ tell me you are a Dean Martin fan."

Molly blinked, bowled over. The comment that she said next, bit and gnawed at her tongue until she said it.

"Are you sure you didn't _lie _about not being gay?"

She hit herself the moment she said it. But Jim just laughed it off, giving her a playful eye-roll as he plugged the music player in and began to trawl through the various CDs that lined the CD rack on the other side. Bloody thing always confused him. Sebastian never put things in the right place - the arsehole.

"Not me, I'm afraid," He answered charmingly, "—okay, maybe I'm a _little _gay. But eighty five percent straight isn't bad."

It was difficult not to smile at that. In fact, Molly did.

Breathlessly, she surrendered. "I love Dean Martin." She answered him, lips pressed together.

Jim paused. Slowly, he turned his head and glanced at her. She was smiling. Delectably, he licked his bottom lip.

"I know you do." He commented, holding up the CD and giving her a nod.

It was probably the wine talking. But Jim had to say that there had always been something different about Molly Hooper when she smiled. It reminded him of why it was that he recruited her. She was nowhere _near _as pathetic as everyone thought. As he thought. As she herself, thought.

And Jim knew that too. He knew _most _things. It was a talent.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

><p>Hearing the loud boisterous opening of Dean Martin's <em>'Ain't that a Kick In the Head'<em>, Molly watched as Jim theatrically pivoted, a large smile stretched over his lips. He left his wine glass – still half-full – on the top of the music player and then began to click his fingers. Nodding, Jim then slid smoothly towards her, grabbed her hand and pressed her to him. The permeation of the music overcame her and it wasn't until she realized that they were touching that the situation clicked in Molly's mind.

_how lucky can one guy be?_

"—Jim, what the hell are you doing?" Molly gasped as she watched him move his head to the music humming the tune cheerily. His hand settled and curved around her waist causing her to jump.

"We are _dancing_, darling," Jim pronounced narrowing his eyes at her terrified expression, "—it's alright, Molly. It's not _Strictly_. I won't judge you if you can't' dance."

She didn't answer. Her heart was hammering far too quickly in her chest for her to be able to _think _of anything to say. Jim was still humming. She watched as he huffed- clearly aggravated by her stillness - and took her other hand. With a quirk of the head, he gently perched it on the surface of his shoulder blade. Satisfied, he smirked.

"Just follow my lead."

With a nod, Jim took a breath and they began to sway. Molly's hazel eyes darted in all directions as she tried to avoid his gaze and stepping on his foot. She had never been particularly good at dancing – in fact the last time she recalled dancing was way back in her Bristol university days. Of course, she never quite danced like this. This was completely different. _Breathe, Molly. _Her hand was stiff as it quivered in his grasp. He was _far _too close.

She could _smell _him. He smelled like berries. "—you're not bad." His voice drawled, disturbing her observations. Of course, she had been so distracted by the music and his _smell _that she completely lost her stance and found herself clumsily standing on his left shoe. Molly turned crimson and glanced up at his face which adopted an overly-played – childish – pained expression. Still, despite the fact that he was evidently faking – the guilt remained.

Molly opened her mouth to apologize but found the words rotting listlessly in her mouth as he suddenly leaned into her. She expressed a breathless gasp as his face missed brushing against hers by inches. She was further pressed against his shirt - she _couldn't _move. Molly was paralysed. Like a fly caught in the web of the predator. But he remained humming and her feet continued moving. All she could _hear _was his humming; by now all the music had faded. She could only hear his voice.

She could also hear him breathing. Regular and deep. _In. _Out. It was wrong. _Entirely w_rong to even think it. But Molly found his closeness somewhat comforting. It really should be sinister and her paralysis should be ticking off warning signals - but it was beginning to become far more _pleasant _than frightening. It was definitely _not _romantic (for God forbid if it was then there was definitely something wrong in her brain) but it was odd percieving the criminal as a _dancer. _A good dancer too. He was gentle with her again. Floaty. Despite the distance being so _dangerously _close, Molly found herself relaxing just a little.

Of course he had to ruin it by opening his big, Irish mouth.

"Oh, Molly," Jim groaned deliciously as he motioned his lips to her ear, "you feel… so _good—_"

Molly shivered distastefully as he emitted a low winded growl. She didn't answer. He was _breathing _on her.

"—tell me, is it me making you so _hot_?"

Bastard. Her head was swimming. He was back to _Jim Moriarty_. Even his name seemed repulsive again. Gone was the comfort. Now, it was back to disgust.

They rotated slowly. Molly could hear the sound of the loud trumpets and instruments blasting off from the track. But they seemed insignificant against the loud rush of blood that sped past in her ear. He was right. She was very warm. _Feverish_, even. And because of this, his hand was like clutching ice. It was absolutely freezing. His fingers seemed to be protectively clasped around hers – probably to warm themselves. It must not be nice feeling like a glacier all the time.

"I do love dancing with you," He commented detecting her every twitch and twirl as he lead the dance, "—you don't talk much-"

Jim chuckled softly, eyes shiny.

"—I love that in a woman."

Molly wanted to slap him. But their skins would touch. It wouldn't make things any easier to endure. He was clearly initiating some sort of conversation. However, Molly found that she couldn't reciprocate a similar urge. The more he talked the more of Jim's frightening side she saw. She wanted no part in it. But at least the song was ending. It would all be over.

"_Tell me quick_," she heard him murmur tonelessly as the ending of the song approached, "_oh ain't love a kick- tell me quick, ain't love a kick –_"

But then _knock. _

* * *

><p>Three knocks. Loud. Jim's last few words turned into a frustrated moan as he tipped his head back in frustration. Their dance came to an abrupt halt. He freed her. Instantly, her knees seemed to shake andmiraculously she stayed up. Pale and trembling, Molly turned and watched as Jim paused the track with a remote which he returned to his pocket. By that time another knock resonated from the door.<p>

"_Come_ in! Come in!" the man lashed out in frustration as Sebastian's face popped out from the side of the door.

"Boss." Sebastian greeted coldly, eyes registering Molly's presence with a dull flicker.

Jim moaned out loud, expressing a violent exhale as he passed the blonde man a long glare. "—_what_? What do you want?" He quipped, licking chapped lips as he retrieved the wine glass from the music player. Sebastian blinked for a few moments before pushing the door open.

"It's Marlow sir," He informed his superior directly, "—he's here."

The displeasure in Jim's face seemed to melt as he took a sip from the wine, the taste instantly growing on him.

"_Marlow_, you say?" he quirked, one hand running through short black hair as he shook his head, "—well, that is something."

* * *

><p>Molly was confused. Who was Marlow? Jim looked very amused. In fact, he looked <em>gleeful. <em>But then it initiated another grimace. The bitter sentiment seemed to signal instant menace. Again, she was surprised as to how swiftly he seemed to change persona. How it came so easy to him to become someone else - a completely different part of himself. It was scary.

Her thoughts were instantly muffled when Jim suddenly turned towards her. His eyes seemed to examine her terrified posture thoroughly before he expressed a short chuckle.

"Love," He purred, quirking his head, "would you mind totting off to the kitchen for a few minutes?" Jim tipped his chin towards a small open door across her, "—_got _a little bit of business to finish." His eyes returned to Sebastian and he expressed a knowing nod as a signal to allow for the visitor to enter.

Molly couldn't help but feel entirely grateful. She nodded and completely disregarded how patronizing the whole thing appeared. Obediently, she shuffled towards the kitchen door and pushed it open. Scrambling as she found a light switch, she closed the door. Cautiously, she listened out for voices. There came no sound. _Nothing_.

But then out of nowhere, _boom. _Out resonated the beginning of _Sway._

The volume of the song increased to full. _He doesn't want me to hear. _It was loud. Petrified, she found herself shaking again as she leaned protectively against the wooden surface.

_'—When marimba rh__ythms start to play—'_

The song continued. Each line seemed to stretch and pounce into Molly's consciousness. It wasn't until that one line. That one line that allowed for a little of what was happening behind the door _slip _-

_'—__When we sway I go weak—'_

Beneath that line, Molly heard a strangled cry. She found herself breathing in. And just by listening more closely, the truth became painfully evident. A man's cry. A scream. A _sob. _Within a few moments, muffled grunts - voices. _More crying. _Breaths slowing down warily, Molly's heart stopped when the music seemed to _cut_ halfway:

_'—Only you have the magic tech—'_

The silence that followed was bloodcurdling.

Fingers gripped onto the door handle, Molly found herself exhaling shakily as Jim's voice flawlessly floated to fill the silence:

"Molly darling," He called, "_you can come out now._"

Daringly and with clenched teeth, Molly turned the door handle and stepped out.

* * *

><p>It had been far worse than she envisaged.<p>

Jim was standing with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His knuckles were bloody. Stained. Leisurely, she lumbered forwards and had to repress a gasp at the figure that knelt helplessly on the floor. It was a man. He was shuddering. His face was _disfigured_ – blood oozed from his swollen lips and eyes. His cheeks were dirty with bruises. His head – or what was left of it - faced Jim hopelessly. He was being prosecuted for something. _He was dying._ Sebastian stood behind the kneeling man, eyes fixated on Molly's face.

Glancing up, Molly found herself panting as she met Jim's unflappable gaze. He was stretching his neck, teeth gritting. A cheerless grin darkened his face as he flexed his bony hands slowly. Molly was speechless. Heart deep in her mouth, she found herself unable to repress a revolted breath as Jim faced the man holding a hand gun. The gun's muzzle pushed against the centre of his victim's head. Molly could _hear_ him crying. He was _saying_ something. Begging. But it was incomprehensible now.

Her stomach flipped. She wanted to do something. But she couldn't think. Jim's head turned towards her, his smile remaining.

"Molly… Marlow…_vice versa._" Jim uttered in a bored, _cutting _tone as he continued to press the gun against the man's skin, "—I wanted you to _meet _each other before –"

"Please don't –" Molly blurted out, eyes teary as Jim's expression changed. _He's crying_, her mind whispered _have a heart. He's crying – _

It was difficult to read Jim's expression. His eyes seemed to lower for a moment – as if thoughtful – and then icily lifted. He frowned before giving the sobbing man an uninterested sneer. Molly cringed as his eyes locked with hers again.

"You have to understand that Mr Marlow here has been _very _bad," Jim pronounced somewhat mockingly as he chewed his lower lip, tone of voice thinning into a _hiss_, "—I really did like him at first. _Lovely_ bloke... but you see—"

His eyes grew cold.

"—I _really _don't like it when people try to _fuck _me over."

Those harsh brown orbs didn't leave hers when he pulled the trigger.

Molly's eyes fluttered shut in response. The man's cries echoed in her mind as she heard nothing. There was no gunshot. It had been a swift _whoosh _sound. But she heard his body drop. She heard the _thump _the man's body made when it fell.

Her own body flinched. And then she shook. And then she cried.

"—no, _no _– _no _- stop that," The tall, Irish man was groaning, _seething _at the sight of Molly's outburst. He curled his hands into fists and pounded them violently against the side of hollow temples. "-_Molly_!"

The last one was a shout.

It seemed to strangle her sobs. When Molly's eyes snapped open, Sebastian was scooping the blood-spattered corpse from the floor. Jim was drinking the wine straight from the bottle with bleeding hands. Standing there unable to breathe – her eyes turned towards Sebastian who signalled towards the door with his eyes. Everything was blurry. She was gasping for air.

Molly couldn't stand there anymore. The smell of the flat was sickening. She followed Sebastian out, avoiding Jim's vice-like gaze. Before closing the door behind her, she did look back. The madman was by the large windows at the edge of the room, draped in darkness with the wine bottle clasped around his fingers. He was only a silhouette. But he was humming.

Breathlessly, she shut the door.

_Why would he do that? _Her mind asked mournfully as tears uncontrollably escaped her eyes, _why would he make me watch?_

There could only be one reason for such a sick and heartless decision. Jim Moriarty had wanted to _warn _her.

_"—I really don't like it when people try to fuck me over."_

And now Molly knew.

* * *

><p>"There are tissues in the glovebox."<p>

"—oh," Molly blinked rubbing the bottom of her eyes with her sleeves, "thanks."

Sebastian was driving. Molly was in the front passenger seat. The whole experience had been silent. She could see the body stretched over the seats behind her. It elevated the tension. She had been sitting there completely unable to think. Overwhelmed. Perhaps in shock. She _couldn't _get the man's face out of her mind. It made her queasy. She could hear him still. Sobbing.

"What did he do?" Molly murmured softly, pinching a tissue and wiping her nose, "Him, I meant." She clarified gesturing towards the corpse.

"He lost a deal," Sebastian answered formally, "—and then tried to run."

"So, is that why he was _killed_?" she asked, wincing at the last word, "because of the deal part?"

The driver seemed amused. "No," he drawled lightly, "It was the _run_ part."

Flicking the signal, the car turned a corner and roamed further into the black streets. Molly stared blankly into the unfamiliar horizon as Sebastian turned the steering wheel.

He found himself adding:

"—In this business, deals get screwed all the time," _Because this world is full of arseholes and liars, _"But you _never _run."

A soft silence took over as the car took to a stop. Sebastian briefly paused at the wheel and then turned his eyes towards the quivering brunette. He emitted a light _hm _sound.

"I suppose you'll stay here then." He retorted, evidently unsurprised as she nodded weakly.

Molly watched as he left his seat. His door closed. _Door opened. _There was a pithy shuffle in the passenger seat behind her. A door closed again. The body was gone. Four minutes later, the door on her right opened. Sebastian slipped in carrying with him the faint aroma of cigarette smoke. She hadn't moved much - still as confused and upset as she was before.

He noticed it.

"Try not to do that again." Sebastian commented as he switched on the engine and began to reverse, eyes flicking at the mirrors.

"Do what?" Molly murmured.

"Cry," The man affirmed, eyes then glowering at the tissue box she held, "You saw how much he didn't like it."

"I didn't mean to." Molly shook her head as the car took to the road, "It was just that I -"

"—you saw what happens to people he _doesn'_t like." Sebastian interjected harshly, unable to bear any hapless excuse for such a _ridiculous _outburst. He stared at her wholly this time.

She seemed to stiffen. Sebastian pressed his lips together before releasing a sigh. He shook his head.

"Just… don't do it again." He informed withdrawing his gaze as his fingers drummed rhythmically on the wheel, "—it's just advice Hooper."

Molly nodded knowing that despite the man's _terrifying _nature, Sebastian had been the person who salvaged her from the wreck she'd dug herself in Jim's flat.

"I know," she mumbled, glancing up at him, "And thanks."

"You're welcome." Sebastian uttered unfeelingly, not wanting to press _why _she was thankful.

The car journey was wordless after that. Molly did feel the weight somewhat lift from her thoughts as the empty passenger seat behind passed her view. However, it did not make everything better. _It did not make the dead man's cries go away._

"We're here."

"Where exactly?"

It was an identical street to where Jim's flat was. For a few seconds, Molly thought that Sebastian was _returning _her to that place. She opened her mouth to plead against this but then he answered with —

"My flat." Sebastian halted the car smoothly and turned his head towards her, "—I have a spare room. Either you take _that _for the night or you go somewhere yourself."

Molly blinked. He shrugged.

"—your choice."

It was clear that he was trying to mask the _amiable_ gesture with a large amount of indifference. Molly found herself overpowered as she nodded gently.

"The spare room would be lovely."

* * *

><p>It had been pitch black in Sebastian's home. She had clambered up the stairs, blinded by the darkness and lead to a door on her right. Molly wasn't sleepy - nor was she tired. But it <em>felt <em>safe here. Sebastian _felt _safe. Perhaps that was what Adelaide had meant - the "safest" car. Suddenly, the formally attired man did not appear so intimidating.

Pushing the door with a slight creak, Molly plodded in. The street light outside was enough to illuminate the bare skeleton of the room. There was a flat mattress. A window. A wardrobe. A mirror. But it was a room and Molly found it difficult to imagine anything _more_. This appeared more real - a lot more earthly than the two extravagant locations she had seen in Jim's company.

"Try to be awake by 0800," Sebastian muttered, rubbing his eyes faintly.

"Uh, okay," Molly nodded deciding that she was an early-riser anyway (although she wasn't sure _exactly _what time it was).

"—There's a clock by the mattress," the man added as if sensing her hesitation and concluded with a mumbled, "We have training tomorrow."

Training? Molly's mouth parted but the man's shadow was gone. He had closed the door too. Motionless for a few seconds, she turned around and found herself consoled by the silence. She wasn't sleepy. There was little to _sleep _on. No pillow. Duvet. Sheets. Just a mattress.

Which _anyone _could have used. But training? Molly trudged towards the mattress and inclined her head - spotting the miniscule alarm clock by the top of it. She retrieved it and glanced at the time:

_03:13 am _

Honestly? Five hours. _Training. _Molly sat, resting on the surface of the mattress and began to think. _Think. _Think back to that day. Jim's birthday popping up on her mobile calendar as an omen. Molly's roof collapsing. Being abducted. Being drugged. _Jim. Jim. Jim. _She pictured Jim with his bloody knuckles and the manic grimace that danced permanently on his face. She pictured him as the Dean Martin fan with the accent. She imagined him _shrieking _at her for crying. The way he hissed her name like it was toxic.

She looked around. _Now. _Molly was in a stranger's flat. Weaponless. Restless. Shaking. With five hours to do nothing.

Smoothing the surface of the mattress with her hand, Molly realized that it seemed genuinely comfortable. And clean. She wasn't sure how she knew - perhaps it was the darkness snaking her senses. Either way she contemplated lying down.

And then came the sound of a piano. Sebastian was playing upstairs. The sound was slightly muffled by the door but the piece sounded gentle and nostalgic. In the end, that had pushed the straw and she found herself lying down on the cold mattress with her eyes closed.

It was warm in the room. The music was evocative.

Molly found it impossible to resist falling asleep. She _almost _did. But she had to do something first - something she always did before sleeping. Something she had stopped doing only a day or two ago. She opened her eyes, paused and then murmured a delicate:

"Goodnight Toby."

Yes. It was silly and childish to say goodnight to a cat- an animal that didn't even _exist _anymore. But Toby represented a lot more than that. He represented Molly's homesickness. Her old life. The things that made her _happy. _And even though she constantly found herself in shock, upset and traumatized - Molly decided that she must do it from now on. She had to know that there were_ always_ better memories to hold onto.

Molly shut her eyes.

_The dead man's cries faded._

And for the first time in a while she suffered through no nightmares.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And that is it. End of Section One. Section Two is all about the relationships between her and the team. You've seen a bit of Molly & Seb [my favourite to write; there's something dynamic about them] Adelaide too and the under-mentioned Mr Newall. Training will also be there - if you like the notion of the nation's favourite morgue-attendant and a gun, then stay tuned! This chapter was so difficult to write - mainly because of Jim.**

**WHY IS HE SO MEAN. /sobs. I'm trying to coax the human out of him. It will be done! But yes, Section 2 should flow a little more. And not be so horrendously difficult to write XD I hope you're still enjoying yourselves! (Despite Reichenbach!) And let's keep swaying yes! ^_^ Update shortly. **

**Oh and I've decided that since my Sebastian is so adoringly musical, whenever he plays I should add what the music was. In my head, the sad nostalgic music was Clair De Lune - Claude Debussy. Gorgeous piece. **


	11. Section II: Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**Seb!Molly centric this first one. I own nothing you recognize! Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>Section II<p>

**Coming Together **

_"...is a beginning. Keeping together is progress. Working together is success."_

- Henry Ford.

* * *

><p>"That was much better."<p>

"—honestly?"

"_Definitely_," Sebastian answered, concealing a smirk as he sardonically added, "—if you were aiming for the wall."

Unfortunately, the wall had not been the aim.

A large, discouraged groan was expressed by the woman beside him. She pulled off her safety glasses and frowned at his bemused expression.

"It's not funny," Molly mumbled, red-faced, "—it's really crap."

"Oh it is," Sebastian agreed, inspecting the untouched target board and then allowing his gaze to motion over to the bullet gaps on the back wall, "I don't think I've _ever _had someone not manage to touch the target board after a week and a half of training."

It was fair to say that the statistics were making Molly feel a _billion _times more ashamed. She glanced up at him, holding the hand gun and felt like throwing it away. It was frustrating. _How _she was managing so badly she wasn't entirely sure. The fact was that Molly (due to the nature of her work) had very steady hands. Surgeon-like. However it seemed that the moment she gripped a gun, adrenaline pierced far too quickly and infected her with the shakes. It was involuntary - but it was vile.

Either way, Sebastian was losing as much patience as she was. He carefully concealed it beneath snark and layers of bravado but he was growing restless every day that passed.

"Can we take a break?" she asked him readily as Sebastian looked up from his mobile phone.

"Sure." The man nodded, pocketing his phone as he lumbered towards the door.

* * *

><p>He had been right. The private shooting gallery had been Molly's principle home for a week and a half. For the past eleven days Molly had followed a very strict routine. She would accompany Sebastian to the range from nine in the morning and stay for the rest of the day – the finishing time would vary depending on Sebastian's "chores" (as he called it). It would fluctuate from one in the afternoon to six in the evening.<p>

The point was that for days Molly had only breathed and held guns. The very weapons that used to send her heart off like a jackhammer had become trivial_. _Of course this instant comfort came slowly. She had spent the first few days dropping the gun whenever she pulled the trigger. Sebastian would express a flighty sigh in defeat. Molly would blurt out a sweaty apology. _Routine. _

Fortunately she was getting better at not dropping the gun when the bullet fired. However she still shook like a leaf caught in a storm. That was the main issue.

"You're wasting a _lot _of bullets for my training." Molly posed as she stood with Sebastian over the patio-like surface which overlooked an empty, grubby field.

"Well observed," Sebastian retorted as he dug in his trouser pocket for cigarettes. Fishing it out, he then turned to the woman and extended it towards her –

Molly blinked.

"Would you like one?" He asked offhandedly.

"Uh, no thank you," She refused politely, awkward smile plastered across her face, "Smoking increases the risk of lung cancer… throat cancer… CHD…"It was here when she realized that what she had babbled had _meant _to stay in her mind. Blushing, she glanced at Sebastian who was staring confusedly.

He withdrew the cigarettes, eyebrows knotted.

"I'll take that as a no," he nodded, lighting his own and taking a deep inhale, "—suit yourself."

A silence fell over the pair. Molly glanced at Sebastian who was smoking thoughtfully, his eyes eternally intense and overwrought. She had become accustomed to him now. It was odd saying it but his company was bizarrely _okay._ By living in his spare room, Molly found that she had learnt plenty about Jim's right-hand-man.

* * *

><p>The first was that Sebastian was excessively talented in music.<p>

For the past week and a half - always in the early hours of morning – Molly had been treated to piano, violin and guitar concertos. He was also very athletic and had a meticulous exercise regime which initiated at sunrise. It was fair to observe - with the music and early morning jogs - that Sebastian was _not _a "sleeper". He also owned an eight month old Beagle named Shakespeare – who had happily woken Molly up every morning with his incessant barking at her door – and –

Sebastian was _very _good with guns. He was a "sniper" – Molly wasn't sure what that was - she was sure she'd seen it in _Saving Private Ryan. _But he was impressive. Through the first few days, Sebastian had been forced to show her how to shoot flawlessly (as she had no shooting experience whatsoever, parting from the plastic guns used in the Halloween of '89 when she had roleplayed cowboys with her sister). He would seize the gun from her hand, narrow his eyes, fire then hit the bullseye every time. Her jaw would fall. She would compliment. He would sigh and plug his headphones back into his ears.

Oh, another thing. He had an iPod and seemed unhealthily attached to it.

Essentially, Molly found it very difficult to get annoyed with him when he'd laugh at her hopelessness at shooting. It was plain that he was being _incredibly _patient with her as shown by his lack of frustration at her slow progress. Molly also had to regard the fact that Sebastian was doing his "chores" alongside poking at her horrific shooting skills. He was very busy - always typing, texting and picking up calls - and it made Molly feel like a stupid nuisance.

"Sebastian," she asked innocently, "How tall are you?"

"Six foot three."

Molly blinked at him. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Sebastian arched a brow.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Molly responded with an awkward grin, "I was just shamelessly stalling you."

It was true. Sebastian bowed his head and removed the cigarette from between his teeth.

"—best get back in then," He remarked, dropping the cigarette and killing the smoke with his shoe. The blonde man glanced up and passed her a nod, "_since _you're so keen."

"Keen," Molly sighed, shaking her head, "_Yep_." An unhappy look formed on her face as the prospect of _further _failure collided with her thoughts.

Noticing this, the man expressed a light sigh.

"Come on Hooper," Sebastian encouraged flatly, teeth gritting, "—this is the easy part."

"Okay." She answered back as she owlishly glanced at him, "_Easy_?"

"Of course," He continued, "Your target's going to be running next time."

Molly paled.

* * *

><p>"Steady… have you <em>got <em>it?"

"—uh, I think so."

"Put some pressure against the trigger," Sebastian instructed, face flinching as he uttered an unsupportive, "_Shoot_."

He already saw the outcome before the bullet's journey. _Another one wasted._

The sound of the gunshot echoed through the empty gallery. There was a brief interval before the sad neglectful bullet mark on the back wall appeared. It was difficult not to go insane and take the gun himself. It appeared almost cruel to be using this much bullets for a worthless cause.

He expressed a long breath, hands in pockets. Molly turned to him, shaking her head despondently.

"It's hopeless," she muttered, "_I'm _hopeless."

"Not exactly," Sebastian noted pointing at the mark with a steady finger, "—that was closer that time."

Molly blinked, narrowing her eyes to stare intently at where he was pointing.

"—really?"

"Yes," the ardent man quipped, "go on. You're getting better Hooper."

Adjusting her glasses, Molly found herself smiling warmly. Well if she was getting better then she had to try again.

Behind her, Sebastian rolled his tongue inside his cheek eyeing her closely. It was hopefully going to be as he planned:

_If practicalities don't work; try psychology._

It should work. Some positive _mind impulse _to send the bullet off into the board. However the next gunshot offered no success. This time Sebastian didn't lie through his teeth. He glanced down on the floor, expressed a muted sigh and called it a day.

* * *

><p>Four PM. It was earlier than yesterday when they had spent almost twelve hours at the range. Molly had ended up in <em>tears <em>before Sebastian eventually called it quits. He had said something about "progress" but knew that he was only being polite. She could tell that even he was surprised at how unskilful she was with the guns. Perhaps it was one of those things that she was _never _meant to master. For example, Molly had tried and failed at ballet - flute - violin - poetry - _well. _

She wasn't very good at many things.

Seated in the passenger seat of Sebastian's "temporary _Mercedes_" (she was yet to understand what this meant), Molly blinked as the phone in her trouser pocket began to vibrate. Oh, yes. The phone.

In short, it would seem that everyone in the 'team' was handed down a phone which was used _primarily _to contact Sebastian. On the third day of training, the broody blonde had thrown it at her and stated something about the mutilation of her hand if she _ever _lost it. It was a very important tool and anything one searched, called, texted could be tracked by Sebastian with a flick of a finger on his laptop.

_'So don't try and be clever, okay Hooper?' _He drawled at her, _'I see all.' _

Molly had kept it nonchalantly,deciding she wouldn't have to use it yet. However since recieving ownership of the phone, she had found herself with daily texts from Jim. _Everyday. _The whole thing made her wince. The fact was that it reminded her of her abduction and how everything had spawned from a text. She had asked Sebastian if he was _meant _to text her. The man had shrugged and stated something about how he had bought the bloody things so the "boss was free to do what he wanted."

But it made her uncomfortable. She texted back (out of courteousness) but he never continued the conversation. He'd text. She'd text. And then nothing. The messages itself were erratic and nonsensical. One day they would be a _Hello. _The next a quote from Aristotle. She was always left confused.

**16:06**

**Afternoon, flower. -J.**

The message was glaring at her. Back prickly, Molly turned towards Sebastian.

"He's doing it again," she sighed at him unsure whether to bother texting back, "The texting thing."

Sebastian shrugged dismissively. His eyes emitted the message "_could-fucking-care-less". _Well, tough. Molly was far too unnerved by this issue to shut up.

"I always reply," she continued, "Just to be polite. But he doesn't respond afterwards."

A smile void of humour pressed on the blonde man's lips.

"He must be bored."

"What?" Molly blinked impishly, "He doesn't text back when he's bored?"

Pausing at traffic lights, Sebastian chuckled impassively as his fingers tapped to the rhythm of Mozart's _Dies Irae _on the steering wheel.

"He does _all _sorts when he's bored." The man shared, shaking his head.

Molly couldn't help but think that she knew that fact already. Tentatively, she found herself typing a half-hearted:

**16:10**

**Afternoon.**

Leaning back on her seat, she expected for the conversation to die. As usual. It was uncomfortable but it was nice as well. After all, the last time she'd seen Jim was the first night in his flat. It had been a harrowing experience - far more disturbing than _everything _she'd seen him do. A small part of her hoped she'd never see him. Ever.

Settling in wearily with a large breath, Molly blinked as the phone vibrated in her hand.

She jolted upwards in shock. Sebastian began to laugh.

"Lookit Hooper," the man articulated wryly, "Your wish came true."

_What the hell? _Her mind rasped _Why would he reply?_

**16:12**

**Heard training is not going very well. Guns scaring you? -J.**

Her fingers tapped a reply by themselves.

**16:13**

**I'm just not very good.**

Don't reply. _Christ, don't reply._

The phone vibrated. _Damn it._

**16:14**

**Oh but it's so easy. Don't worry. I've left you a little gift to help. -J**

Gift? Sebastian was looking at her deliciously curious. Molly was still blinking.

**16:14**

**A gift? What is it?**

The notion of a body. A maimed hand. Cake shaped like a bullet? Molly could feel her heart rate sharpen as the next reply teased her on the screen.

**16:15**

**Secret ;D -J.**

Molly didn't reply. When they reached the flat, she found herself jogging forwards as Sebastian stood by the front door holding a wrapped package left on the doorstep. She opened it there and then.

It was a book.

_Shooting for Beginners: An Introduction._

Instantly, a text.

**16:48**

**You're welcome. -J.**

* * *

><p><em>"—Shakespeare you bugger,"<em> Sebastian's muffled voice muttered from behind the door as Molly listened to his ascending footsteps, "_what did I say about doing it inside the house?"_

Smiling at the sound of the puppy's barks, Molly found herself holding Jim's "present" on her lap. She eyed it and after suppressing a ridiculous amount of wariness, opened it. _Book. _She was going to be reading a book about shooting. "If it helps," she found herself breathlessly stating as she sat, cross-legged on her sofa bed (the mattress had been replaced) and began to read.

It did not have specifics about the gun she owned. However it was a fantastic transcript to emerge an evening in. It taught her quite a lot about the bare basics - which were pretty helpful. Flicking through various pages, Molly was inspired to research about her own weapon. And so she did. She took her phone and began to read up on all the internet pages about hand guns and how to shoot them safely. There was - surprisingly - quite a few.

Unexpectedly, the aim of hitting the target board appeared less daunting after the evening reads. For the first time, she actually felt a surge of self-confidence. _I can do this. _

And one person was especially responsible.

Realizing how many hours had passed, Molly held her phone tightly. She eyed _his _last message and was faced with the dilemma of being polite and being sane - to text or not to. _That is the question. _

In the end. She did.

**20:22**

**Thank you.**

He didn't reply. But Molly had expected that.

* * *

><p>Five days would still have to pass before Molly eventually hit the target board.<p>

Sebastian had sat on a stool beside her, tapping away on his laptop not paying large attention to the sheer _focus _she was investing in every shot. Molly held the gun, one eye closed as she meticulously aimed for the centre mass. Taking a breath, her finger gradually _squeezed _the trigger. Calm. Her hands perpetually steady. _Gently. Gently._

Quivering a little as the bullet was fired, Molly stepped back as she excitedly spotted the _first _mark on the circular target. The shot seemed almost a _fluke_ considering her lack of success. Sebastian certainly thought so as he suddenly stood up, peered in closer and expressed a low whistle.

"—Sebastian look!" Molly chirped, resembling a child who had just received their first 'A', "—I did it!"

"Bloody hell Hooper," the man mumbled, shaking his head, "I _can't _believe it. You actually did."

"I know!" Molly felt her cheeks grow rosy as she eyed the mark on the target board – entirely distracted by childish pride.

Behind her Sebastian had returned to his laptop, wolfish smile pressed on his face.

_Looks like it worked boss. _He typed in the chat window.

A reply came a second later:

_Shocker. Of course it did._

Rolling his eyes a little, Sebastian lowered his gaze as a small icon popped up on the bottom of his screen to indicate a new email.

_Got work for you. Plane tickets are there_ - the message on the window read.

Sebastian opened the ticket order and blinked: _Hong Kong International Airport. _Interesting. Nodding to himself, he typed a reply:

_Yes boss._

A minute passed:

_We leave early. I've contacted the others. Give Molly your car to borrow. _

Sebastian was mute. His employer noticed the lack of response instantly.

_Oh come on now_, the message read, _I'm sure she'll be careful with it. She needs to practice more._

His jaw defeatedly unclenched.

_Yes, sir. _

* * *

><p>"You're leaving?"<p>

"_Yes._" Sebastian uttered, lighting a cigarette submissively.

"For how long?"

He inhaled the cigarette smoke.

"Who knows." He mumbled pocketing the pack of cigarettes, "A week — maybe less. Probably more actually." International business always moved slower than ones at home.

Molly's expression was lopsided.

Beside her Sebastian was patting his back pocket for something. Retrieving it, he stated a quick and direct -

"—Hooper catch!"

"Catch what?"

"This."

He threw her his car keys. Molly caught them, wincing as she managed to prevent them from scratching her face. Sebastian repressed a back handed compliment.

"But… why?" she blinked, inspecting them.

"You need to get yourself here everyday," the man articulated strictly, "—no day-offs. You better be hitting that centre by the time I get back."

Molly could feel her heart hammer. "Uh, but…" He was already walking, their short session of shooting over.

"But, Sebastian," she managed as she caught up with him, "Can't you just leave it with me tomorrow?" She was discreetly afraid she would lose it. Despite it being "temporary" – Sebastian did seem attached to his Mercedes. She would lose the keys. And tomorrow, she'd be dashing around like a headless hen looking for it.

"I need to see you drive Hooper," he explained delicately, buttoning up his coat, "—I _will _be pissed off if I see a scratch on that car."

"Oh," Molly was red now, "okay then." She couldn't imagine scratching the BlackBerry he gave her – let alone his car.

Arching a brow, the blonde man smirked.

"You _can _drive right?"

He was teasing. She frowned. Memories of squealing senselessly when she had passed her driving test after three practical re-tests flashed through Molly's head.

"Uh yes _of course_," she nodded clearly unconfident, "I can."

Sebastian observed the doubt with keen eyes.

"Dear me," he whistled gently, "—well I'd be the judge of that, I suppose."

"—I can drive _fine_."

"So where are the keys?"

"What do you mean? They're right —"

Heart pouncing, Molly unclasped her palm and realized despairingly that they were gone. _No, damn it! _Her mind was cursing all sorts as she stopped, wide-eyed and began to pat her pockets down. Panic swelled in her chest. _See, only after five flipping seconds. I've already lost them!_

"—it's here… somewhere… just –"

Sebastian then turned to face her, dangling the keys within his fingers.

Molly blanked.

"Oh my god," Her gaze dashed from her palm to his fingers and _back_, "But... _how?" _

"It's your eyes Hooper," Sebastian returned it to her with a bemused '_hm' _sound, "Got to keep them open."

He began to walk again. Molly followed, the keys locked tightly in her grasp. Hopefully - for her sanity's sake - to never lose them again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I miss Jim already. Anyhow, more training to come! Thanks for reading!**


	12. Section II: Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

><p><em>Woof. <em>

For three days now, Molly had found Shakespeare the Beagle's barks to be the only sound that reminded her of life. It had been that many days since Sebastian had left for business and she had been left driving his temporary Mercedes around Dublin. It had been odd realizing that she was actually fully alone. The fact was that for the first time she felt genuinely free of the _'Big Brother Eyes' _that seemed to have stalked her from the little holiday house all those weeks ago. It was surreal.

And yes, the temptation of running outside and screaming about the fact that she had been kidnapped by a master criminal had jerked a few times.

A _lot _of times. But fear always stopped her- that little voice in her mind that warned her of instant death if she uttered one word. Plus, the street where Sebastian lived appeared perpetually quiet. No-one would hear her anyway.

"—coming Shakespeare," Molly muttered, wrapping her robe around her and sleepily rubbing her eyes. She could hear his incessant barking from Sebastian's living room slash office upstairs. It was a lovely big place where he kept his piano and various other musical paraphernalia. During the days she'd lived with Sebastian, she had not mustered up the courage to step a toe inside. It was only the past three days of liberation that had allowed her a sneak preview of the books, wine bottles, ashtrays and various portraits -

Reaching the top of the staircase, Molly picked up on something peculiar.

The dog was barking in a different way today. Not the usual, _'let's-wake-Molly-up' _way. A different way. Narrowing her eyes cautiously, Molly began to tread silently towards the open door of the office. In her mind, she wondered what she would do if there was an intruder.

_Die because you have no weapon._

Darn. She must remember to keep something relatively dangerous with her at all times. It was too late now though. _Let's just hope for the best. _Heart drumming inside her chest, Molly entered the living room with as much courage as she could plastered on her face.

The courage faded as a figure emerged. A woman. _Stranger._ She was giving a-rather-chuffed-Shakespeare his breakfast and upon seeing Molly enter piped up with a cheery –

"Morning!" _Not the most intimidating thing for an intruder to say._

Numbly, Molly blinked. "_Uh_, do I know you?" Easily, not the most intimidating thing to say to an intruder.

The woman appeared bemused.

"Uh of _course_," the brunette answered, "It's only been three weeks! How can you not remember me?"

The flicker of recognition was absent. After a quick inspection, the brunette was filed to _stranger. _Opening her mouth to say something about not-liking-jokes, Molly's eyes then locked with hers. Those large chestnut brown eyes collided with her memories instantly.

_Gasp!_

"Adelaide?" Molly managed, voice cracking as the woman across began to laugh.

"Yes!" she stated, hands flailing up in relief, "—I really thought you'd never get there."

Instant relief. Molly's face flushed with an irrecoverable amount of joy. She was happy - not only at seeing the woman but also seeing human life! However the joy was short-lived as the doubts kicked in at almost the same time. _But it can't be her. _Molly's mind was arguing. Adelaide had short black hair. This woman had long wavy brown locks. The Adelaide she recalled was also a _lot _taller. And most significantly, she certainly didn't sound –

Her thoughts were interrupted by 'Adelaide's' hand flinging over her mouth.

"Oh _god_," she gasped, "I was Irish the last time we met right?"

Molly bobbed her head up and down, still blank-faced. Just as her thoughts had stated: _she certainly hadn't sounded like that._

"Oops… sorry," the brunette sauntered forwards chuckling, "I'm not actually Irish."

In truth, she was Welsh.

Adelaide progressed on to mumble quickly about how she was actually from Caerphilly. Her hair was actually long and brown (the short hair had been used as a dandy little disguise for a job) - and how the Irish accent had been for show. All of this was serenaded by Adelaide's light warm chuckle. The sound was refreshing. Molly could have hugged her after that.

It seemed that for weeks, Adelaide's initial kindness have slipped through holes in her memories. She had been the _nice _one. Even before Sebastian turned out to be tolerable. Eyes a little glazed from the images of the little holiday house faraway, Molly watched as Adelaide clasped her hands enthusiastically.

"I've put the kettle on," she nodded, "Now come sit – you must tell me what's been happening to you."

* * *

><p>Molly found it excessively difficult to stop herself. She told Adelaide <em>everything.<em>

From the horrors of Marlow's demise, the insufferableness of training, to _Jim _– she found that everything poured out like an inescapable river of words. The memories themselves were vivid and the emotions raw. She wasn't sure how many times she had to repress the urge to sob and shiver – especially when it came to the sections where Jim was prominent. Her voice dipped when she talked about how astonished she had been at Jim's credentials. It had been genuine _awe _because she had never approached him as majestically clever. Crazy yes. But _clever_?

Adelaide had been a fantastic listener. She never once interrupted. Her expression contorted into all sorts as Molly continued her talk. It was the description of Marlow that goaded the greatest reaction. The woman's large brown eyes had shone with tears as Molly sighed to express the gunshot to the head. _He must have been nice_, Molly's mind murmured as she finished with Sebastian's temporary Mercedes keys and the deprivation of the last three days. Exhaling, Molly glanced at the teacup in her hand which had now grown cold.

"Oh, Molly you have been busy."

"You could say that," Molly chuckled, patting down her _morning hair _as the woman stood and offered a kind smile.

"Well, how about this. _I _promised Seb I wouldn't distract you from training so let's get you ready first." The woman grinned, "—I'll meet you outside – we can take my car."

Still a little dazed, Molly glanced at the time – _9:02 _– my goodness! She was late. If Sebastian had been here, she would have probably passed out from apologizing too much. He was astoundingly sharp with punctuality and always being _ready_. Molly could only assume that it was some childish obsession that he never grew out of.

Nodding, Molly watched as Adelaide glided out with Shakespeare barking delightedly after her.

Something told her that today was going to be a _nice _day. Not an "overly-emotional-occasionally-angry" day like normal.

* * *

><p>"—so, he <em>texts <em>you?"

"Yep."

"Oh wow," Adelaide chuckled as she parked her Mini in front of the entrance to the disbanded factory which held the shooting range, "—that must be weird."

It was utterly bizarre. Molly nodded completely agreeing with the sentiment. On the drive, Adelaide had told her that the 'boss' was very guarded and she herself spent very little time with him. Apparently, it was only Sebastian who was in Jim's significant company and all his other employees were sent far too much work to keep themselves busy. It was a 'hierarchy' – and it was a very efficient one at that. Molly it seemed was the _prime_ exception. And by god, she hated being one.

"It's pretty natural that everywhere Jim goes Sebastian goes too," Adelaide nodded, stepping out of the car and waiting as Molly did the same, "I don't talk to him. Any work I get is through Seb."

_Work. _The word was making her wince. "I don't think Sebastian is very fond of me." Molly mumbled with a smile as Adelaide began to chuckle.

"He's harsh," she articulated in her velvety accent, "But he's lovely…once you get over the initial repulsion."

It would seem that Molly was yet to completely surmount this 'initial repulsion'. She remained bloody frightened of him even if he did have that biting sarcasm that made him rather funny. Following the other woman, Molly hauled the briefcase that kept her handgun and bullets as she wandered indoors.

"God, I haven't been in here a while." The brown haired woman mused as she turned around.

"You were trained here as well?" Molly asked curiously as Adelaide began to nod.

She took a deep sigh, inhaling the slightly dense air. "—oh yes," The woman in the purple coat beamed, "Everything and everyone starts _here_." Pocketing her hands, the familiarity of the damp dripping warehouse slash shooting gallery almost made Adelaide teary-eyed.

"I hated it here though," she admitted, looking back and passing Molly a wink, "Seb was _such _an arse when I was with him."

A small giggle slipped past Molly's lips. "Tell me about it." She bit back bemusedly.

"I'd _love _to," Adelaide nodded, eyes bright, "I bet I'd be able to whip your skills up far quicker than he can."

_She's a criminal_. Possibly a very dangerous one. And yet she was so lovely. Molly found her mind growing fuzzy as she grinned at Adelaide - feeling like she had made a friend. An ally. The initial reservations about her had faded. So had the memories from their initial meeting. There was something _real _about the woman. Perhaps that was why Molly gravitated towards her so openly.

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited for another girl?" the Welsh woman chirped, shaking her head lightly, "You tire of men in a business like this. _Honestly_, they are everywhere."

"You're the only **—**" Molly paused as Adelaide nodded.

"In this circle anyways," she then shrugged, "It was just Charlie and I before you."

The name was unfamiliar. "Charlie?" Molly's lips turned a little to the side, "I don't think I've met —"

"You haven't met Chaz?" the other woman grinned, "You must! He's the loveliest thing. Easy on the eye and real polite..."

Polite. A small fragment of a memory crawled through Molly's mindscape. _Blue eyes. _Oh. "I've heard of _Newall_, is that him?"

"Yep, Charles Newall." Adelaide pressed her lips together as she turned to Molly warmly, "Don't you worry. I'll tell you as much as I can about everything that you need to know."

Adelaide had called it "girl-talk." Molly had officially titled it as _thank god for her._

* * *

><p>And so, her week in Adelaide's company continued in a similar manner.<p>

Molly learnt far more beneath her guidance than the sixteen days she spent under Sebastian's. She learnt a lot about Dublin and the area that the flats were positioned in. It seemed that the region around them was a very exclusive one and the houses that lined the various streets were owned by wealthy emissaries who simply used the places as second homes. The streets were very quiet – perfect for hideouts– and it was rare to find a free property. Along with Sebastian and Jim, both Adelaide and Charlie (who she was yet to meet) also owned a flat in the same lane.

Another thing that Molly learnt was that work was variable and erratic – always different and frightening. Adelaide had said that she had done many jobs that ranged from the easiest – deliveries and collections – to excessively difficult. _Murder_? Molly had asked as Adelaide shook her head. _Far worse, Molly. _That particular conversation had ended in a rather arduous note after Adelaide had shown her a local newspaper article about a man's body being found in a park in the city. A miniscule amount of details was mentioned in the newspaper but considering the timeline mentioned, there was no questioning who it could have been. _He was nice_, Adelaide had sighed.

Amongst the various snippets of advice Adelaide had told her, Molly had learnt most importantly to be careful. The dangers of trust had been highlighted to her – how _one _slip up could jeopardize the whole job. How one little twitch of the ankle could blow up your colleague.

The only thing that Adelaide didn't touch upon was Jim.

All Molly learnt was how well Jim paid. _He also loves designer clothes_, Adelaide had chuckled, _The man is fluent in Prada. _And that had been it. She couldn't help but feel that negligent feeling that something was being kept away. But Molly didn't want to pry.

At the end of the week, whilst in the middle of a shot in the range – Adelaide had tapped her shoulder and informed her that she was going to be leaving to work. In four hours.

"Crazy, right?" Adelaide had chuckled, watching as Molly stripped off her safety goggles, "I told you that work is weird."

"Adelaide, I –" Molly couldn't help but frown, "oh, it's going to be horrible training without you."

"You'll be fine," the woman scoffed teasingly, gesturing towards the board, "I mean _look _at that! You're hitting the the board every time now."

Blushing, Molly grinned.

"Be careful Molly okay?" Adelaide smiled, "I've put my number in your phone."

"Really? But Sebastian said -"

"_Oh. _We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

* * *

><p>It was odd without Adelaide. Molly had grown accustomed to hearing Shakespeare's happy barks when she was in the flat early in the morning. Without her, the beagle seemed peculiarly quiet. Molly had sighed at the poor lovesick animal and knew that it probably missed Adelaide far more than he had pined for his own owner's company. She wasn't sure how that worked. Perhaps Adelaide spent a lot of time in Sebastian's flat as she even possessed her own flat keys.<p>

Oh wait. _'Shh, don't tell Sebastian I have my own keys.'_

Yes, well. She supposed she could keep that secret.

"Morning Shakespeare." Molly greeted as she opened her door and allowed for the puppy to saunter in. The small dog barked happily in response as she crouched and cooed at his face.

_Sigh. _Her thoughts grew a little sad. _I miss my Toby._

Of course Toby didn't bark. But. The small cat had been spirited all the same. Unable to hide the sombreness on her face, Molly straightened up and offered the dog a smile. "Looks like it's just the two of us," she nodded at Shakespeare faithfully, "You ready for breakfast?"

Shakespeare looked confused. Well. She was asking a _dog. _Oh, hush. Why did it matter? Talking to non-human entities had always proved a great distraction in her job at the morgue. Working with dead people and all.

* * *

><p>For another two days, Molly's days were exactly that. She would be woken by Shakespeare's barking. She would make him breakfast. She would train. Take Shakespeare on a walk. Cook one of the products from Sebastian's <em>ridiculously <em>large collection of freezer meals. And lastly, she'd go to bed. It was very repetitive – but that was _why _it was so comforting. She half expected it to go on forever.

Spoke too soon.

On the third day, Molly was woken up – not by Shakespeare – but by the sound of the piano upstairs. She could hear the distinct pressing of the piano keys. Eyes a little blurry, Molly disentangled herself from her sheets and glanced at her phone for the time. She frowned a little. It was – _6:02 am. _Even the dog would still be asleep.

Stretching, she wore her robe and peered out of her door and into the staircase. It was pitch black. But she could hear the piano keys playing a simple tune. _Sebastian. Hm. _Molly was sure that by now the man would be on his morning-run. Her eyes glanced over to the landing window and realized that it was barely sunrise. Perhaps he was just about to go.

It was probably the morning rush talking, but Molly felt eager to see him. She was relieved that he was back. No more worrying about training. No more worrying about the Mercedes. Clutching the car keys which she had stored beneath her pillow every night, Molly trudged up the stairs quickly. Her footsteps had been loud and when she reached the top, the sound of the piano stopped.

At the time, it hadn't struck her as odd.

She simply burst into the room and stated a keen, "Sebastian?"

Silence met her. This struck her as odd. Far too slowly, Molly's eyes turned towards the figure seated behind Sebastian's beloved grand piano. The room was dark – only lit by a dim lamp at the back of the room. However, it didn't stop her from recognizing his shape in the shadows.

"Not quite," the Irish voice drawled, "Guess again?"

"J-Jim?" Molly blurted out, horror-stricken.

"Bingo."

Molly listened mutely as he began to play the childishly simple tune of _'Mary had a little lamb' _before slamming his hand on the surface of the keys – producing an ear-splitting sound. It made her spine flinch. She dropped Sebastian's keys onto the carpet.

"I was… never a fan of piano," His voice mumbled stretching the _i _in piano and making it sound like an _eee_. Molly could almost picture that dastardly smirk on his face as he added a low, "—sorry if I woke you."

She didn't answer. Silence paired with Jim had become a natural balance.

He noticed it of course. Inclining her head, Molly watched as Jim's face peered through the shadows.

"Good morning," he greeted dryly, "—I did text."

"I – I didn't get anything."

_For if I had I wouldn't have gotten out of bed you sick – _

"—oh," His lips quirked into a smile, "Well, then this must be a nice surprise."

Standing up, Jim brushed off the bottom of his coat. He then glanced around the living room, brown eyes narrowed dully. It wasn't until he reached Molly that his expression changed.

"Have breakfast with me." He stated, accent smooth.

Molly blinked before stammering, "I… I'm not hungry…yet."

Jim smiled before shaking his head.

"I don't remember giving you a choice," He retorted innocently as he shrugged, "It definitely wasn't a question."

Giving the room one last look, the man walked forwards and brushed past the frozen woman. He stopped by the doorway upon hearing no footsteps and rolled his eyes.

"Come _on_ Molly," He moaned, expressing a loud sigh, "Far too early for _disagreements_, don't you think?"

Molly pivoted. He was leaning against the frame of the door. Lips pressed together sweetly, he held out her coat - highlighting the fact that she had no choice but to follow.

Defeated, she wrapped the coat around her and mumbled, "Fine."

"Cheers_._" Jim nodded, folding his arms.

For a few seconds, he watched her. Wordless. And then he turned and made for the stairs, contented.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: You leave me speechless with your loveliness, people. Honestly. :) Thanks for reading.**


	13. Section II: Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

><p>Breakfast took place in a much more modest setting than their last one.<p>

He had led her down the street, amongst the morning chill towards a small café Molly had passed by everyday on her drive to the gallery. The place itself was very bland and old. But Molly had been far too cold to complain. Inside was the background sound of the television positioned at the end of the eatery. The establishment's colour code was white and blue – reflected by the tiles on the floor. The decor was weary. There weren't a lot of people inside. No. There was a man drinking coffee whilst reading a paper, another man who looked like he was suffering from a head-crunching hangover as he stared at the wall, and a woman eating a sandwich right at the corner table. It wasn't the best sights to see first thing in the morning. But, it was warm and that was nice enough.

Jim turned to face her.

"I don't think they have muesli."

He was referring to her favourite breakfast. It seemed that he was still convinced that that was all she ate. Considering how frightened she was of asking Sebastian about buying muesli, she had definitely broken that diet.

"I don't want anything." Molly affirmed, gaze lowering.

"Coffee it is, then." The man said, eyes grim, "—I remember how you like yours."

She couldn't help but flinch as he expressed a short chuckle. "I bought you coffee," Jim drawled casually, placing his hands into his coat pockets, "Do you still remember?"

"Not something I can forget." Molly murmured as the remnants of a memory stirred in her head.

* * *

><p>They had met on a very tiring night shift. My <em>god. <em>How long ago it seemed when she had first met Jim-with-the-bright-yellow-tie-and-the-goofy-voice. Jim who was slightly adorable. Her throat dried a little as she recalled the meeting and how pleasant he had been. How she had thought about Sherlock and –

_Sherlock. _Her hazel eyes opened. It surprised her how long it had been since the name sprung up in her thoughts. He used to _always _occupy them. His silky voice. Those cheekbones! And just the generalities of the detective. He was smart. _Fit_. And everyone else thought her silly because Sherlock was meant to be crazy.

Jim was different. He had been shorter. He didn't have the cheekbones. He didn't wear _the coat_. He had not been particularly funny. And yet, my goodness how she had worried about him that night he didn't meet her at the pub. She had lost count as to how many hysterical missed calls she must have left in his voicemail. The concept that he was ignoring her after the fight they had (about his 'sexuality') deeply upset her. She was caring like that. Always the helpful considerate Molly.

And it turned out that her best quality was also her fatal flaw. It was different now. She had lost most perspectives on things. The old life that had burnt in that explosion was just a vague roll of images. She couldn't remember very much of the morgue. Of Caroline - her neighbour and quite possibly her _only_ acquaintance. She could only fully remember Toby. The cat who never really got the love he deserved.

Returning to the café and away from her thoughts, Molly realized that Jim had already ordered.

"—just black for me, no sugar." A jovial smile was pressed on his face as the woman behind the till blushed and began to make the coffees. A few minutes later, Jim shuffled towards a table by the front of the café with the order. She followed after him and with a silent gasp sat across on the table for two.

He was stirring his coffee - dark eyes glowering at the surface of the table. He looked _tired. _Molly put it down to jetlag but he did seem a little different today. The sort of difference that made her think that more than jetlag was responsible. She couldn't detect the disdain in his weary eyes. That twinkle_. _His eyes were just normal_. _But they were staring at her now. Unreadable as ever.

"Go on," he told her quietly, motioning towards the Espresso, "Drink."

She wanted to tell him that she _hadn't _been hungry or thirsty. That all of this was pointless. She wanted to be _angry. _And yet, she found herself pulling the cup towards her and reaching for the sugar packet.

There was silence as Jim took a sip of his coffee, large eyes remaining on her as he lowered the cup. She felt his stare pierce sharply as he offered a prudish sigh. Molly glanced away, only to be attentively pulled back by the sound of his voice.

"I don't know about you Molly," he retorted, grimacing as he leaned back against his seat, "but I think we are in need of a _very _good talk."

* * *

><p>It was tense. The open, grubby café seemed to be completely inept at containing the discomfort that Molly felt as Jim stared at her. Everything felt intense. Tight. The warmth of the café's radiators was turning everything into a hellish inferno. The people around her were suddenly invisible. It was just Jim again. She wasn't sure why he was staring so keenly – to think, in another life she would have found his attention flattering.<p>

His gaze moved away. A finger brushed the bottom of his lip as Jim leaned forwards and pursed them thinly.

"I want to talk to you," he spoke softly, quirking his head as Molly's gaze fell on him, "about that night, with Marlow."

_What? That night you murdered a man right in front of me? _"There's nothing. You don't have to say anything," Molly shook her head gently, crumpling the small sugar packet between her fingers, "—I _saw _it all."

"I shouted at you."

She looked up.

"Do you know why I did that?" He asked innocently.

"Because... you didn't like the sound of crying." Molly mumbled, swallowing as his eyes met hers, "Because you were angry."

His shoulders lifted lightly as he expressed a loud exhale. "Wrong," he uttered, lifting a finger thoughtfully, "—although you were closer with the second guess. You are right. I was _angry. _Pissed beyond repair." His hand lifted the warm cup to his lips as he took another sip. It was fair to say that Molly had barely touched her own drink. From what he'd observed, she'd sprinkled enough sugar there to shatter a molar. She was doing it because she was so heavily distracted.

Distracted people do the stupidest things.

"—especially at you," He continued, lowering the cup to the table and shaking his head spitefully, "Why did you react that way? You never met him. You don't _know _him. You have no _right _to regard him as anything more than the man-I-met-a-second-ago." Jim distinctly remembered introducing Molly to him. Perhaps that had been unwise. He suppressed a groan, "You felt sorry for him. Why did you? You see dead bodies all the time! You… were so…"

Jim released a loud defeated sigh as he rolled his head back dramatically. "—so, _predictable_ Molly. So… caring and kind...," He snapped forwards, catching her shaking eyes instantly, "Do you realize… how… how…_annoying _that is?" His voice had skipped up a couple of octaves. Molly could see it again. That twinkle that his eyes had been missing at the beginning of the conversation. It was back. Shiny like liquid gold.

"No, I don't." She replied ardently, collecting as much courage as she can, "I was scared."

"You didn't need to be," Jim retorted coyly, taking another sip, "I wasn't going to hurt you."

He wasn't going to hurt her? _Ha, _says the man who pushed a gun against the centre of her skull. Taking a sip of her own, Molly found her face screwing up in distaste. _Too sweet. _She left it on the table deciding she wasn't even thirsty.

"You don't believe me," Jim stated blankly, eyes narrowed, "Well, that's a little disappointing."

"You haven't been particularly trustworthy," Molly murmured, shoulders hunched, "You can't _expect _me to just… believe you."

"Why not?" The man tutted, "—I saved your life remember?"

"It was a kidnapping –"

"But I still saved your arse." Jim's tone interjected tediously as he drummed long fingers on the table, "see… see. _This _is why I wanted to talk." The man flicked his gaze over her face and allowed for her individual features to click in his mind. She was so easy to read; everything about her was spread out in the tired lines that she'd desperately tried to conceal with makeup. Of course _now _there was no makeup. She was completely exposed for his pleasured analysis.

He licked his lips thoughtfully. "You need to understand _why _you need to believe me." He pronounced, "I'm… I'm your friend now, Molly."

Her expression was incredulous. As if his nose had disappeared. "_Friend_?" she gasped, jaw wide, "Are you serious?"

"Naturally," Jim answered disregarding the scepticism in her eyes, "Is _Friend _a little too… forward? How about _close _acquaintance? Uh… _work buddy_?" He was teasing her. Tongue rolling around in his cheek, the Irish man expressed a warm chuckle.

The sound was hideously sarcastic. "Either way," He jabbed, "You work for _me _now. I gave you a choice. You chose. You know that."

"Yes I know."

"Then start acting like it." Jim finished gravely.

* * *

><p>An instinctive silence formed. Molly found herself glaring at the cold cup of coffee in front of her. She was numb. He was right. She <em>worked <em>for him. She had to accept it. Adelaide. Sebastian. They had been the acceptance. The signature on the devil's contract. Denying it any further would just give her chest pain.

"_Fine_," she murmured, the word sounding more like a wheeze, "I… fine."

"That's the spirit." Jim snapped with a hasty quirk of the lips as he stretched his neck, producing a _cracking _sound which Molly found herself gaping at. He grinned toothily in response.

_Ugh. _Molly grimaced. Within seconds Jim was staring at her again, grin dissipated.

"You know you have to be useful," He stated starkly as he relaxed, "I _don't _carry unwanted baggage. Too heavy for a busy man like me."

Each word was hissed. Her head was thudding. Painfully. "I'll try." She eventually managed.

"Harder," Jim drawled, scraping his teeth together, "You will try _harder_. Say it."

"I'll try… harder." Molly chorused weakly.

"_Hm._ Good girl."

Afterwards a bleak silence stretched. He took another sip of his coffee as his lips curved upwards.

"Enough about this," he announced defiantly, hand slamming the top of the table startling her, "Let's talk about something else, yes? I heard the lovely Welsh woman from the valley came to visit," He was grinning; Molly could only blink as she detected genuine enthusiasm from his tone, "—had a nice time? I thought she'd cheer you right up."

"Uh, yeah. It was okay. Fine," Molly nodded, "I was… training."

"Hm," Jim nodded, drinking his coffee fittingly, "I heard you were doing well."

His smile. Molly could see the smile. Remember it. _This _was Jim-from-IT's smile. The warm bright one that had made her giggle like a stupid teenager.

"Jim… I can't…" She began to shake her head.

"Can't _what_?"

"I don't want us to talk about this." Molly sighed.

The man across her stared, his face expressionless. For a few silent seconds, Molly thought that he would stand up and scream at her again. His hands - _clean and blood-less _- were still as they pressed against the table. _Ordinary! MOLLY! _He would shriek _Stop being so ordinary! _But then his face relaxed. The coldness faded and the man shrugged his shoulders.

"Fine," he agreed, pressing his lips together, "If you don't want to. _Just this once. _Fine. What do you want to talk about?"

"Do we have to talk?"

"Oh, we _have _to," Jim chuckled sweetly, "I can't let you get your way with everything."

He was serious. Molly could see it. Eyes blinking, she glanced around the café and found herself uttering a staid and humourless:

"The weather."

Clearly, it had caught him by surprise. His eyelids fluttered as he gazed at her.

"Honestly?" He posed, brow arched.

"Yes," Molly murmured, face stern, "I… I want to hear about… your view… on …um… the climate and... stuff."

Jim laughed. She reddened.

It had been random. The _weather_? It was quite possibly the most mundane and most _ordinary _thing Molly could have summoned. But that was what her mind chose. _It's the most harmless too. _She watched his face contort into one of amusement as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Fine…" Jim nodded, grinning widely, "-if that's what you want."

"It is." _Don't smile, god Molly. Don't smile back. _

Infectious; that coil in his lips. It was infectious. _Why was it_?

"Well," His eyes dashed to the windows beside them, "The weather is _shit_, if I'm honest. Look at that. Ridiculous, really…" His monologue began. Molly found herself taken as Jim – with all gentility – began to ramble on about the climate of Dublin. Just as she had asked. He rambled sparingly and without interruption. She listened as he commented on the seasonal misery of the Irish environment and how much he was dreading winter. He talked about autumn. How the weather in Hong Kong differed. How grey was not a pleasant colour.

Most of the words bypassed her mind. It was his face that she noticed most. He must have talked for about five minutes before he turned to her and the expression on his face changed.

"What?" he asked, "Am I boring you?"

"No…" _Far from it. _Molly mumbled, managing a modest smile in return, "carry on."

He didn't carry on. He simply leaned back, brushed his hands together and gave her a knowing nod. Molly eyed him and for once she seemed to be the one who was eagerly ogling the other. He looked different - again. He didn't change clothes. He barely moved from his chair. But he looked different. The weariness that had previously etched his face seemed to have all but faded. He looked loose. Everything, eased.

Another thing.

There was a glint in Jim's eye. A twinkle. But the glint was different. Molly wasn't sure if it was good. Bad. Both. But it was different. And she found herself unable to look away from them. She was so consumed that she'd completely forgotten the silence that ensued as Jim stared back, equally as curious. She didn't even see the smirk that fleeted across his lips.

"My eyes are just gorgeous aren't they?" He quipped, batting his eyelashes to disturb her thoughts.

Molly's face flushed instantaneously. "No…I… it wasn't like that," she fumbled, blushing furiously, "I was… thinking...not about your eyes! Just thinking!" _Stupid! _

Jim whistled lowly as he smirked, "I was just teasing."

"I know… sorry," Molly murmured shaking her head, "Jim. I… you have to give me time."

"And we have _plenty_. Not right now though."

The man was still for a moment, his expression unmoving as he pushed his seat back. His gaze flickered downwards as he wearily rubbed his forehead. "Business is calling and my phone's been vibrating _far _too long in my pocket to look decent." He mumbled, glancing down at her with a flippant smile.

Still blushing, Molly watched as he then brushed off the sleeves off his coat. The jetlag-weariness had returned to his face. The smile he worn only moments ago - a mere echo. The familiar grimace formed on his features as his eyes travelled towards the outside. Molly inwardly sighed. The "glint" had died. And now she'd never know what that unfamiliar gleam was.

Maybe it had just been a trick of the light. She was, in a word. Disappointed.

Tensely, she sat looking up at him as his eyes met hers. Jim blinked before leaning forwards. It reminded her of the dance. How close he had been. _Oh god. _Molly blinked as she felt his _hand_ press on top of hers on the table. Warm. His fingers embraced around her hand and squeezed it gently. A long pause followed. Thoughts zipped past Molly's mind. She felt her heart thump. Breathing. Slower. _Shake his hand off. Shake it off now._

But she was frozen. _And his skin was warm. _

"You... dropped these." Jim eventually whispered, delicate as he pulled his hand away to slip something into her palm.

_Sebastian's car keys._

Shaken, Molly gazed down at them and then looked up again. He was tilting his head.

"I'll… be in touch," he voiced distantly, "Thanks for breakfast."

Molly wasn't sure how to respond. She just blinked and watched as he walked towards the exit. Her lips parted to say something. Goodbye seemed a little abnormal. _I'll be waiting_? Hell, no. _See you... _

_Gone. _Molly found herself closing her eyes in relief as she realized that he was gone. Fully. Heart thrashing in her chest, she clasped shaking hands together and buried her face into them. Her thoughts were blazing with his touch. His _stare. _His damn Irish mouth.

"Why me." She found herself stating despondently as she shook her head.

My god. She needed to shoot something.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh, you lovely people. You make me happy with your comments. My goodness. But anyway this chapter was dedicated to all of you- but especially to one anon reviewer - Ellene - whose last review made me smile as she wondered about Jim's tiny bit of humanity. There was a little bit of it here for you.**

**I'm still - to this day - experimenting with Jim's character but hopefully I'm depicting him okay. If not, I am going to try until I do! Thanks so much for reading; just to warn you that I will be off to hospital next Wednesday but I should be able to squeeze in another chapter till then. Oh and expect more Molly!Jim breakfasts. It's their thing. They don't need dinner :P**


	14. Section II: Chapter 4

**_C_hapter Four**

* * *

><p>Three days had passed since her breakfast with Jim. Molly liked to count. It made her feel safe.<p>

In the early hours of the fourth day, Molly was awoken by the sound of the piano upstairs. Shivering, she shut her eyes and envisaged what had happened the _last _time she was led upstairs by music. It took her about five minutes of brusque silence before it dawned on her that the piano playing was unquestionably Sebastian's. However by the time she reached the top of the stairs, the piano's song had died. The sound of strings resonated instead.

"Sebastian?" she asked meekly, tilting her head to see inside the room. The door was open for once. And so were the lights. Two large suitcases were in a heap on the floor. Sebastian was perched on the top of one, one leg folded over the other as he held his guitar closely.

He looked up upon hearing her enter. Molly found herself expressing an awkward wave as a greeting. "Hello," she smiled, "Welcome back."

Sebastian pressed his lips together, blue eyes fixated on her emotionlessly. He didn't look pleased. Molly wasn't sure if she should blame jetlag. Opening her mouth to inquire about the evident unpleasantness, she found herself blinking as Sebastian turned and retrieved an object from behind him. A box.

His face resembled stone as he uttered a toneless and serious:

"You've been eating my…profiteroles."

He held up the _Marks and Spencers _box with an arched brow.

Molly found the colour slipping from her cheeks. "No!" she chirped defensively, "Well, _yes _but I only ate three! There's still sixteen left…" _Oh no. _Now he knew that she counted things. She always did that when she took other people's things. After all, she never wanted to take too much. The rations always had to be reasonable in her head.

Breaths growing more irregular as every second strolled, Molly's eyes widened as she noted the bemused smirk that had grown on Sebastian's lips. The blonde man shook his head arrestingly and lowered the box to the floor. He then returned to his earlier position and began to strum the guitar.

"Sod off Hooper," Sebastian drawled richly before offering a rather _huffy _half-smile,"— fine _yes_, hello to you too." The half-smile faded as he then jerked a thumb towards the door, "Now _off. _Bedtime."

Molly smiled and then shrugged. Turning, she then heard his voice interrupt her.

"Hooper _wait_," Sebastian gnashed his teeth together thoughtfully, "Do you own a pair of trainers by any chance?"

"Um, no." Molly blinked, "But with the allowance you gave - I did get a pair of flat shoes."

The man's blue eyes appeared to gleam as he turned back to the guitar.

"That should do fine," he retorted, "_Got _something fun for us to do."

There was something utterly dismaying about the line. Molly had opened her lips to ask but she was met by another jerked thumb towards the door. It wouldn't be until _sunrise _when the fun activity was eventually revealed to her. And to be perfectly honest, she had every right to _not _be excited. It was quite possibly one of the worst activities Molly could have summoned in her head to do so early in the day.

* * *

><p>"Sebastian… I can't keep running -"<p>

"Oh come on Hooper… it's only been half an hour."

"_Honestly_," she began to splutter, "I… I can't."

Pulling the headphones out of his ear, Sebastian turned and watched as Molly stumbled forwards, legs barely able to stand. She jogged with her arms flailing –body limp like a rag doll. Her chest was heaving up and down as she wheezed breath after painful breath. He had to note that she was had been far more hopeless at this task than he had primarily estimated. However he couldn't fault her effort. After all she had already been panting desperately for oxygen after only two minutes of running. It was miraculous how she managed to stay alive after thirty.

"I take it that PE was not your strongest subject at school." Sebastian remarked casually as he strolled towards her. Throughout this exercise, she had never once caught up with him. In fact, he found that he had to slow down occasionally to ensure that they were on the same pavement.

Her face was pink. She had a hand clamped tightly over her stomach as she leaned the other against a tall metal lamppost. Sebastian expressed a 'hm' as he glanced upwards and brushed his hands softly together. It was a chilly morning today.

Perfect-morning-jog conditions for the athletic male.

"O—okay," Molly managed, heart still racing within her chest, "I think… I think I'm okay now." Her legs were jelly. She couldn't _move _them properly. Actually, she was sure her legs had stopped working after five minutes of this bloody jog. In the end, it had only been determination and _fear _that fuelled her muscles through it.

Oh, but she was sore. He was right. She had never liked PE at school. Molly tripped over everything - had lousy aim - couldn't kick things for toffee. If anything, Molly had probably been hazardous in PE lessons. A walking danger magnet. _God._ The last time she recalled running that much was back at her first day of university and almost missing her bus. That had been years ago.

It made her feel ten times worse that Sebastian had glided through it like a pro. He had jogged quite confidently. All he had needed was a couple of cigarettes at the beginning. His beloved iPod. And _whoosh. _He had been off. Molly supposed that he must have done this a thousand times but against the feel of the morning cold – running felt hideous. She was sure that if Sebastian had not given her a break, she would have coughed up her lungs.

Or some other vital organ.

"Can you walk?" he asked her, eyebrow arched.

"Just about," Molly answered, stepping forwards and suppressing a yelp of pain, "—I _don't _really run...much."

"Really? You could have fooled me." Sebastian stated sardonically as he exhaled, "This is easy; you just need practice."

"I don't think I really want to," Molly admitted, robotic in her walking motions, "My lungs definitely don't."

There was a momentary silence as they began to shuffle forwards. Molly limped forwards with Sebastian sauntering beside her, lighting himself a cigarette. She could still feel her head pounding as the _mortifying _memory of the run replayed itself in her mind. My god. She felt like the failed version of _'Run Fatboy Run'_. But she had never been talented at sport. That was her sister's forte – among everything else.

"I wanted to ask you," Sebastian drawled from beside her, "Was Grim in the flat when I was gone?"

"Grim?" Molly's lips flattened, "Um… _no _idea who that is."

A small change of expression fell on the blonde man's features. He smoothed the front of his grey jacket lightly, "Adelaide," he corrected himself, "Was she in the flat?"

_Hm. _Molly's primal instinct was to say no. But Sebastian had already detected the hesitation and so she could only say the truth –

"Yeah, she was."

Sebastian instantly rolled his eyes as he drew in the cigarette smoke. "Bet the dog was pleased." he retorted coldly.

Molly grinned sheepishly, "Yeah. Shakespeare was pleased." _Delighted_, was a better word. "Why do you ask?" she probed, as the tall man gazed down at her and narrowed pale eyes.

"It's my home," He answered, "Surely I have the right to ask _who's _been in it."

Well. She was stumped.

Shrugging the question off, Molly watched as Sebastian plugged his headphones back into his ears and pursed curved lips. Without a word, he began to jog forwards. "Sebastian!" Molly found herself stammering as he sped off, "—Sebastian! I can't… _I _can't run!"

Her legs were quivering again. Crimson, Molly rolled her eyes and plodded forwards. "Stupid… posh…toff." she muttered huffily beneath her breath as she attempted to _force _herself to jog. Even just a little. It was expectedly unsuccessful.

In the end she decided that walking home was a perfectly apt alternative. And it had been perfect - up until the point when she realized that she had no clue as to where she actually was.

Now that made things complicated.

* * *

><p>After enduring two wrong turns and a morning rain shower– Molly finally reached Sebastian's flat after twenty five long minutes. She was shivering, <em>cold <em>and absolutely drenched from the rain. She entered and brushed her shoes on the entrance mat, face entirely colourless. Sebastian was seated on the bottom step of the staircase across her. He was flicking through the sports pages.

Hearing her enter, he glanced up and narrowed his eyes. Molly took an inhale.

"You got lost didn't you." He retorted, tilting his head.

"A few times." Molly answered through quivering lips.

_Oh. _"Well," Sebastian shut the paper with a rather austere nod, "—best get dressed. You've still got training in fifteen minutes."

She wasn't sure whether she was in the right mind to be holding a gun. Molly found herself nodding obediently and slowly ambled towards the room at the end of the corridor. A loud exasperated sigh resonated from the man left on the landing. He rolled his eyes before stepping forwards.

"Hooper," Sebastian barked down her path, "Do you need me to bring painkillers?"

A rather thin reply resonated from the edge of the hall.

_"Yes please." _

* * *

><p>It took her fifty minutes of gun-therapy to eventually recover from this morning's exercise failure. Molly pulled off her safety glasses and inspected her target board proudly. It looked battered; just the way it should be if she was doing this correctly. It was here, as her hazel eyes were lightly studying the inanimate object that Sebastian spoke for the first time since initiating the session.<p>

"Hooper," he asked offhandedly, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

The question made her eyes bulge. Her thoughts were naturally adamant. _Of course not. How could – _But then she remembered who she was speaking to. Pivoting around to face him, Molly shook her head in response.

"No," she mumbled, unable to meet his gaze, "I – I never…" It sounded so odd in her mind. The notion of taking human life. _Yes_, she worked in the morgue – the most depressing, soul-sucking places on earth. However she had never felt the urge to add any bodies to the collection. That was wrong.

Criminal even. "How… how about you?" Molly asked Sebastian deftly, knowing it was probably going to be sneered at but otherwise felt the need.

He did react in the way she expected. "What do you think." He articulated, glancing up from his mobile as his lips curved into a smirk, "—have you ever _felt _like killing someone?"

She felt like he was reading from a questionnaire. The whole interrogation concept was relatively peculiar. "No," she repeated, _and I never intended to. _

Sebastian's expression was impenetrable as he licked his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"Well," the man pronounced, "then I'm sure you're going to have a _jolly _good time at your first job."

"Um... pardon?"

Job? The paleness instantly returned to Molly's face. She could feel her stomach somersaulting as she blinked away moisture from her eyes. Job? Did he mean. _Job. _Something about that word was making her anxiety levels hit critical. Already confused, her eyes turned to him.

"F-First job?" she probed, mouth agape, "What… what… first job -"

"_Work. _You _work _here, Hooper." Sebastian groaned, rolling his eyes, "I. Have. A. _Job. _For. You." Each word was stabbed - piercing the distance between them like sharp notes on a piano. Molly couldn't help but flinch at every syllable. She could tell that he was sneering at her - trying to make her feel stupid. He most definitely succeeded. Her thoughts were an official mess.

It all seemed surreal. Sebastian noticed of course and all he could do was shake his head in response.

"You wanted to tell me… when we were running," Molly breathed anxiously, "—that's why you wanted to run with me."

"Partly," Sebastian answered coldly, "I also wanted to see if you _could _run. Always a useful skill."

The sadism had melted off from the sheer anxiety that had thundered through Molly's mind. She felt her fingertips go cold as she lowered the gun onto the small worktop by the gallery barrier. Her head was swimming. She could barely _think _about the concept of a job. Let alone what exactly it was. _Stay calm Molly. _Stay. Breathe. _Calm. _

"_Look _at me," Sebastian ordered sharply, "I haven't even told you the job yet."

Molly found herself managing a coherent sentence –

"I'm not ready yet… Sebastian," she nodded desperately, "—please, I'm _not _ready."

There was visually no clemency on the man's face. He simply drummed his fingers on his lap and leaned forwards, blue eyes flashing. Molly could have sworn that the temperature dropped the moment their gaze met. His expression - it bore a semblance to Jim's. Business. She had titled it as his "business-face." The one that made tears prick the corners of her eyes. The one that made her so scared she could stop breathing.

"No-one's _ever _ready, Hooper," Sebastian grimaced lowly, "But you do what you're told. Understand me?"

"I..." Hazel eyes were wide circles, "oh god."

And the penny dropped. "You're going to ask me to kill someone." she managed, shaking her head disbelievingly.

"_Five _someones." Sebastian nodded, leaning back against his chair, "And you're lucky - it's _shoot _not kill."

* * *

><p>Molly could feel a prickly sensation at the back of her neck as she locked eyes with the sniper. She digested his words with slow, rhythmic breaths and had to repress the urge to gasp. She remained silent entirely captivated by her own thoughts. <em>Shoot not kill. <em>She was going to be "shooting" someone. Somehow, after everything - she had forgotten to prepare herself for the inevitable. _This. _

Across her, Sebastian flexed his fingers as he typed a text using his thumb.

**10:14**

**She isn't going to do it boss.**

Sebastian could tell that she wouldn't. It was obvious – the fact that she looked like she'd been shot herself was a dead giveaway. He was vaguely surprised that she _appeared _so stunned; after all, he would have thought that she'd know why the hell they were training so much. It must have been giving her a false sense of security. The flat. Grim. And now that she was actually going to be doing something useful – her mind was refusing. It was frustrating for him because she was an employee. He was impatient with people. He was _especially _impatient with employees.

The phone in his fingertips vibrated lightly.

**10:17**

**I'll talk to her. Leave it for now. **

The man blinked and pursed his lips thinly.

**10:17**

**Are you sure boss? I'm sure I can manage with a few more words.**

Blue eyes flickered upwards. She was staring at the floor like it was going to swallow her whole. Sebastian had to suppress the urge to say something about how she resembled the dog when it saw plastic bags. The puppy seemed to have an irrational fear of Tesco bags on the street. _Hm, funny that. _His thoughts broke when the phone vibrated again:

**10:19**

**Positive.**

_Fair dos. _Whatever he says, goes. Sebastian glanced up and found himself expressing a loud breath. "Come off it Hooper," he stated, "—just do something else for me. Sleep on it… or whatever… whatever will help you… _understand._"

He felt the concept of _allowing _her to think that the subject was dropped insanely exasperating. Sebastian had the email this morning and had already listed a bunch of people to contact. However, the boss had changed his mind within moments of handing him perfectly comprehensible instructions. _Molly_, the text read, _I want this given to Molly. _Of course Sebastian had baulked. After all, this was a _good _job. One of the minority that he genuinely felt quite enthusiastic about. And now it was going to be wasted on an amateur who couldn't run, kill or shoot properly.

It was laughable.

"Here." Sebastian jabbed a brown plastic folder towards her, "—Give this to Newall."

Molly could tell that the man was pissed off.

"Um okay," she mumbled, taking it from him, "—address?"

"Walk down the front. Keep going straight. Take the 899 bus. It stops by an ugly white building. You can't miss it."

Sebastian got up and brushed past her. He manoeuvred towards the worktop and retrieved her gun. He lit a cigarette and clamped it between his teeth as he replenished the gun with new bullets. He could feel a grimace as he gripped the hand gun. _Shit plastic toy _his mind jabbed as he held it and aimed.

Molly was still there, watching him. She didn't realize how much she had fouled his mood until now.

"Sebastian?" she asked meekly, as she heard the first _crack _of a gunshot.

"Yes." The man responded gruffly, teeth gnashed as he took to pull the trigger a second time.

"It's… it's sort of raining outside." Basically, Molly was appealing for his car.

Or his coat.

Anything. Eventually though – after hearing the fourth gunshot – Molly took that as her cue to leave. She could feel herself shudder as she heard the overture of thunder from the outside. She hugged the brown folder to her chest and glanced back. Sebastian was still shooting. She did feel bad. But what else could she have done?

At least she didn't cry.

* * *

><p>"It's okay Molly." She told herself quietly, "—you've walked in the rain before." A lot of times. Lonely times.<p>

Pushing the fractured door to exit, Molly found herself inwardly sighing as the cascade of rainfall met her. Knowing that she would only make things worse if she didn't pursue, she stuffed the brown folder within her coat and ran out into the muddy field. She yelped as she reached the solid pavement and ambled downwards.

_Bus. 899. Ugly white building. Five men. Shoot. Newall. Folder. Run. Kill. _

The string of thoughts weighed heavily in her mind as she splashed in the rain. She walked quickly and quietly and within the thick green foliage positioned at the bottom emerged a bus stop. A bus stop with _no _rain shelter. Molly continued forwards and inwardly yelped as she realized that there was a flipping bus parked! A _bus_!

"Waaaaiiit!" she yelled - dashing down, water spilling everywhere as she ran after it.

Instantly, she was transported to being eighteen. Glasses. Carrying her Biochemistry textbook. She had been wearing a skirt. She recalled running after the bus – screaming about missing her very first university lecture. Molly had been too slow then. She had reached the bus shelter - on the precipice of unconsciousness - and had missed it. She had burst into tears afterwards.

This time was different.

Molly reached the bus door just as the elderly woman in front of her finished purchasing her ticket. The bus driver was eyeing her – obviously confused as to why she looked like she'd been wallowing in mud all day. She had been too distracted to notice her appearance. Pride filled every crevice as she realized that she'd actually made it. But then she remembered something.

"Oh god… I don't… I don't have any money," Tears were brimming the bottom of her eyes as she spluttered, "oh my god… I'm so sorry…"

_All _that effort. But the bus driver was smiling.

"Just get on," he instructed, "I think you've had a long enough day, love."

Glancing down at her mud-splattered coat, drenched hair, teary-face – Molly managed a broken smile.

"Thank you."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Quite a long one here :) Firstly. Thanks again for the lovely responses guys. ^_^ You have definitely cheered me [and Molly] up :D Not sure about Seb. Now. As I said before, there might be a possible delay for chapter 15 - simply because of recovery time. I'm going in for something quite minor [and I'm quietly used to hospital procedures] so I should recover okay! But don't think I'm abandoning this story if I take longer than I've said. Oh! and sincere apologies for no Jim. There will be more Jim in the future chapters, promise. And you finally meet the lovely Charlie. But yes! much gratitude for reading. Sorry for the small delay. Wish me luck! **

**And Lucy - expect a PM mmkay! ^^**


	15. Section II: Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

* * *

><p>The white ugly building had been stop number five. Molly – still shivering from the rain – thanked the bus driver profusely before exiting the bus with her arms folded over her chest. She could feel the folder poking through her coat as she wandered forwards, eyes glancing up at the sky which seemed to have pitied her. It had stopped raining. However the puddles that remained soaked through her trousers mercilessly as she clumsily jumped through a load of them to reach the pavement. Molly tried her best to look somewhat <em>decent <em>as she spotted an entrance. However, she grew too distracted to worry too long.

She _had _to do this. She didn't believe that Sebastian could possibly get any more pissed off with her - but she certainly didn't want to try and make him angrier. _Initial repulsion_, Adelaide had grinned when Sebastian had popped up in one of their conversations. Molly was sure that such a concept didn't really exist. He was eternally brooding. Moody. But she couldn't blame him.

She could only imagine what a burden she was being.

_Laboratories. _There was a sign at the front. It was blue and had an arrow. A little dazed, Molly pulled a door and entered unsure what to say. The place had a reception – a very formal-looking one too. It was small, dark and a desk was positioned only a metre or so from the door. _What am I meant to say_? Was this even the correct place? But it was too late for doubts. Molly wandered in one hand peeling back wet hair from her face as she approached the desk. Her face was blushing deeply as a figure glanced up and registered her with a scrutinizing brow.

"Uh, hello." the blonde woman greeted tonelessly, "Can I help you?"

The woman's eyes were screaming security. Molly found herself swallowing as she nodded her head, face beetroot.

"I was wondering… if there's a Charles Newall here?"

Silence ensued. Molly was so sure that the woman was going to call security that she wanted to run out and sob into the bushes. However, a change of expression brought on a glimmer of hope. The woman muttered, "Oh, him." She then gave her directions for Laboratory thirteen. "Follow the signs," she instructed, "The number should be on the building." Molly nodded, grinning manically as she reversed and gave the woman a bow for thanks. Maybe things were looking up.

She set off for number thirteen.

* * *

><p><em>13 <em>was scribed in a blue sign on the door.

She only had to knock twice before the door opened and the blue-eyed man she had met all those weeks ago appeared in the doorway. He looked at her – face momentarily contorted in a confused expression – before a friendly smile surfaced. Molly couldn't remember too much of him but she recalled his eyes and the fact that he had been relatively tall. He stood dressed in a long white laboratory coat. Molly forgot entirely that _she _was meant to say the first "hello" until he spoke and broke her thoughts.

"Hello Miss Molly," Charlie greeted gently, eyes flickering over her _interesting _appearance "—have you been… out in the rain?"

"A little." Molly answered, a little fumbled at being called 'Miss'. She wasn't sure how many years had passed since anyone had been that polite towards her. She now remembered that he had referred to her in exactly the same manner last time.

"I'm Charlie… I don't think we've met properly?"

"No not yet."

"Yes well I would offer you my hand to shake… but I don't think you'd want traces of _sodium hydroxide _all over your fingers," The man grinned wolfishly as he glanced outwards and stepped back giving her a polite chuckle. "Please do come in," he affirmed, watching her shiver against the slight brush of the wind, "It's much warmer in here." It was fair to observe that he noticed the outline of the folder inside her coat. However despite knowing why she was here, it seemed cruel to leave her shivering outside.

Molly stepped inside graciously. "Oh, thanks so much." The little building slash _hut _was warm indeed. Actually, the word would probably be "well-ventilated" as it was a laboratory. Cheered up by Charlie's hospitality, Molly found herself unbuttoning her damp coat and passing over Sebastian's folder. He retrieved it and gave her a thankful grin. It was here that Molly realized that she'd forgotten to look at it herself. She knew it would have been _wrong _tohowever it would have probably been an opportunity for investigation.

Darn it.

"I… thanks," Charlie smiled before biting his lower lip as he scrutinized her appearance, "—I was just _thinking _would… would you like to stay here for a bit and get dry?… I think it'd be quite uncomfortable to be using that coat. You could pop it on the radiator or something… " He chuckled a little as he realized that he was rambling and tucked the folder beneath his arm. He then pulled at a small door just where Molly was standing. "Here," He grabbed something from the hooks that lay dotted on the inside and offered it to her, "—you can wear this while we're inside. It might be a little big… sorry - I'm not used to having many visitors."

Upon seeing the coat, Molly almost choked.

He saw it immediately. The man's eyes widened as he found his hand retreating, "Oh… sorry did you not want to- It's quite alright if you don't… I –" But then Molly reached out and took the white lab coat from him with a sad smile. Her eyes were slightly watery as she shook her head to dismiss his apology.

"No… it's not that," she told him with a small chuckle, "I just… missed this that's all."

Molly knew that he wouldn't understand what that meant. The coat. The laboratory. _The morgue. _Remnants of memories she would never get back. Attempting to compose herselfshe put on a pleasant smile, shed off her coat and replaced it with the lab's. "You're… right," she giggled, glancing down at the coat where extra fabric had pooled around her ankles"—it's a _little _big."

Bemused, he nodded at her.

"Yeah just… a smidge."

* * *

><p>They had been in conversation for who-knew-how-long and Molly had found herself utterly at home in the comforts of Charlie Newall's mini-laboratory. She had impressed him by identifying various chemicals, helped him with the transferences of the halogens, engaged in a lively debate on the development of the periodic table - <em>all sorts. <em>Everything about being here was therapeutic and Charlie was exactly how Adelaide had described him. Nice. Polite. And _abstracted. _He was always digressing into all sorts as he pranced around. One minute they were talking about Chemistry – the next he was telling her about the life of snow fleas.

"You're a little-" She had stopped as he began to laugh.

"_I know_." He interjected, deviating off to talk about how his favourite element had been Chlorine.

He was however utterly refreshing and Molly enjoyed the conversation greatly. She wasn't sure how long it had been since she smiled so much. Now leaning against the worktop, Molly watched him work keenly. "So…do you… work as some sort of…chemistry advisor?" she asked him, knowing she had wanted to bring up his work for _ages. _The thing was that she received no hint as to what it was that he did. Was he a consultant chemist? Or a very brainy gunman? She found her eyes narrowing as Charlie glanced up.

"Uh…no, actually." He answered with a modest press of the lips, "This is a hobby. This whole thing is hired for me. But you can call me a _techie_ –" He smiled softly, "—as my actual field is electronic engineering…but I adore chemistry too. Obviously." His gaze fell again as he continued with his work.

Molly was utterly fascinated. She now understood why the woman at the reception had looked so unsure. This was a group of independent laboratories used for research. He was using one for _leisure__. _Smoothing the sides of her sleeves, she chewed her bottom lip. She hated prying but she was terribly nosy. It was difficult not to be annoying. "So you're um… a techie for Jim?" she asked, feeling a little guilty as he looked up – again- and nodded at her.

"Yes you can say that," Charlie answered, mumbling, "-I do all sorts for the boss."

_What_? Lips parting, Molly blinked as her eyes wandered towards the windows at the side of the laboratory. Blinds did conceal them however the concerning light and weather conditions outside was quite obvious. "Oh goodness," she gasped – flushed, "I need to get home. I… do you know if there's a bus that goes to… oh know I'd forgotten the street…" Molly could feel her face puffing out in worry as Charlie stood up and emitted a light shrug.

"I could take you home on my bike if you like," he nodded, "I'm almost done."

She could have snogged him at that point.

"Really?" Her shoulders relaxed as she managed a breath, "Oh _thank _you… so much." And so she waited until he packed everything up and the laboratory was clean. She then took back her coat – which was now dry – and said goodbye to the laboratory coat she had missed so much. As they were preparing to go, it was here when it dawned on Molly that when he had said _bike _– had he meant… bike? Two wheels. Bell. Basket. _Bicycle_?

* * *

><p>"Um… Charlie?"<p>

"Yep."

They were walking out into the front of the buildings which held the car park. Molly sauntered after him, arms folded as she struggled to compose a proper way to ask her question. In her mind, she was curious as to by _bike _–did he honestly mean a good-old bike? Summoning up her courage, she walked by him and mumbled a, "When you said bike… did you mean…" Her words faltered in her lips as Charlie stopped by a motorbike parked at the edge of the gallery of cars.

"Yes, _bike_." The man patted the black motorbike proudly before arching a brow and emitting a bemused laugh, "-you didn't think that I was actually talking about a bike, _bike _right? I mean… I wouldn't bring you home on a tandem or anything…" Molly blushed deeply as he fished out a helmet and handed it to her. She took it, shaking just a little.

Charlie was grinning at her, "Put it on then!"

Molly did as she was told, fumbling a little as she adjusted the heavy helmet. She watched as he mounted the vehicle. "Wait…" she watched as he turned his head, "—what about you? Where's your helmet?"

"I don't bring two," he admitted sheepishly, "But don't worry. I'd much rather you had it as I'm used to this now. Honestly."

After few moments of hesitation, Molly found herself mounting the vehicle behind him. It was odd. Uncomfortable. Yet cozy. "Um, Charlie?" she murmured, somewhat embarrassedly, "I've…never been on a bike before…" _This kind_.

"Never?" the blonde man uttered, surprised, "—oh well. Just a good piece of advice. Don't let go….okay?" Molly – still crimson – wrapped her arm around his waist and felt the unbelievable sense that for a first meeting, this constituted as one of her most eventful. She found herself gigglingas the engine began and Charlie asked if it was Sebastian's flat that she was heading.

"Yes."

"Oh, bet _he's_ a fun flatmate."

A small flurry of laughter.

"Charlie?" Molly then mumbled, eyes watering from the cold, "—please… try not to drop me, okay?" Her heart was racing as she bared herself against the wind behind him. Somehow the excitement had faded a little; she was worried. _The roads are slippy. He's not wearing a helmet. Darn it. What did they say about trusting chemists? _However, the sound of the man's laughter was enough to make her initial qualms fade into the background. _'I won't I promise_,' she heard him mumble as Charlie reversed and within seconds – sped off onto the road. She held onto him, face pressed into the fabric of his coat as her thoughts pounded against her head.

For the first few seconds, the feeling of the air slapping her in the face was utterly terrifying. She could feel the momentum of the motorcycle increase as he drove forwards. But it didn't take long for Molly to relax. Enjoy.

The terror suddenly turned into thrill.

It felt good.

* * *

><p>He got her home safely. Molly dismounted, feeling instantly nauseous as she yanked the helmet off her head. Her hair was a mess as she gave Charlie a quick wave goodbye as he swiftly drove off. It was only when she was on the doorstep that it occurred to her that Sebastian was probably home. Already, she was unsure if she was going to even be allowed inside. Taking a deep breath she pushed the door and found it – as it normally was – open. <em>Thank god for that<em>, her mind murmured as she tiptoed in and found herself greeted by the sound of Shakespeare's happy barks as the puppy scampered down the corridor to meet her.

"Hey," she greeted the dog, crouching and giving him a small stroke on the head. It was here when her eyes lifted that she realized that Sebastian was actually walking down from the kitchen that was at the end of the ground floor hall. He stood still, catching her gaze and then glanced away moodily. Molly couldn't help but feel a slight pang of disappointment as he elegantly disappeared upstairs. She sighed and giving Shakespeare a smile,she straightened up and returned to her own room.

For the next hour, Molly wondered how long Sebastian sulked. It seemed very likely that the agonizing silent treatment would go on for a few days – maybe weeks. Surprisingly it didn't. Two hours after returning home, Molly had been making herself tea in the kitchen when the man walked in humming. They exchanged looks. He then uttered a cold -

"Got any apples in there?"

It confused her for about five whole seconds before Sebastian rolled his eyes and stepped forwards, retrieving an apple from the fruit basket behind her. Of course, Molly had reddened and opened her mouth to apologize. But he had already left. It didn't matter though. Molly danced inwardly as she realized that he had definitely stopped sulking. Yes. It hadn't exactly been, _'okay I'm not mad anymore' _– but _'got any apples in there_?' was an acknowledgement of her existence. It definitely meant that the sulking had stopped. Most if it anyway. She found herself smiling as she took a sip of her tea.

But then the grin faded. Because in the end Sebastian's sulking was meaningless. The problem remained. Her first job was still there.

Hanging overhead like a dead man's noose.

* * *

><p>The first text had been loud. Molly kept her phone beneath her pillow and groaned as she felt the object vibrate, making her head tremble. Dazedly, she retrieved the phone and blinked as the shiny screen broke the darkness.<p>

_1 new message. _

**03:01**

**Breakfast time, love. - J**

Her heart palpitated. Molly now knew that whatever time it may be – Jim's effect on her would always be the same. Realizing it had been almost five days since their last meeting, she expressed a muffled moan at the time. It was three am. _Surely_, if she ignored it then he wouldn't care. And she did. She popped the phone back before the same message was re-sent after a minute. Two minutes passed. Four identical texts. In the end, she knew she had no choice but to wake up.

**03:04**

**It's 3am.**

Already she knew that her answer had been too sarcastic. Molly should have put, _Please Jim leave me alone! I don't want to have bloody breakfast with you because I'm not HUNGRY and you're an absolute – _oh goodness. Light blots swum through her vision as she scanned through the next message, repressing a loud sigh.

**03:05**

**Still wasn't a question. -J**

Her head was aching.

**03:07**

**It's too early.**

She could almost envisage him laughing. Or getting increasingly frustrated. Glancing down at the next text which contained _'still wasn't a question' _as a resend, Molly sighed and shook her head. She tapped _Fine _and exhaled. Sitting up and rubbing her eyes tiredly, another message popped up from the painfully bright mobile screen:

**03:12**

**Ta :) -J**

She rolled her eyes back exasperatedly. Mumbling as she manoeuvred in the darkness, Molly found the annoyance fading as dread took its place. She already knew why he wanted her; having "breakfast" wasn't the principle aim of this at all. It was going to be about the "job". _Is he going to kill me_?- Her mind questioned somewhat casually as she smoothed her hands over her freezing cheeks. She didn't know. That was what made Jim Moriarty so utterly terrifying. Nobody had a clue _what _he was.

Hazel eyes puffy, Molly found her gaze deviating off to the small handgun she stored in her bedside table. With no momentary thought, she grabbed the gun and found herself stuffing it in her pockets. _God Molly! _Her mind was screeching - _what the hell are you doing? _

"I have to be careful." she murmured to her uncertain thoughts.

_I can't always let him scare me._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: j!ollybreakfast is up next. Oh guys, thank you for your best wishes. Thankfully, I recovered well! And yes, I hope you liked Charlie. You will be seeing a lot more of him and Molly in the next few chapters. oh Jim. Your timing for breakfast is impeccable. Anyway, thanks always for reading! Much love to you all. **


	16. Section II: Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

* * *

><p>It was silent as Molly trudged through the street. The only sources of light that glimmered were from the lone lampposts that she passed by. Their lamps were amber; <em>get ready<em>, they were telling her. _Get ready for another dose of Irish wisdom. _She managed a weak grin, mists escaping from her lips as she shuddered against the freezing air. Now, she knew roughly where Jim lived. It was only two roads or so from Sebastian. However due to the nervousness and sheer _timing _of this, Molly couldn't quite recall what number his house had been. And so, as she ambled down the street – she half-hoped that she would just see a flashing arrow that read _'this way'. _Otherwise, she would be lost.

However, there was no arrow. The sign she had recieved came in the form of light. Jim's flat was the only one that had light peeking through the curtains. All the other houses stood watching her – dark and foreboding. Holding onto her hood, she approached the familiar door and took a breath before gently pushing it open. Darkness again. She shook her head and rubbed sore eyes as she cautiously traipsed up the stairs. Molly made sure _not _to make a sound and made her steps as light as possible. She reached the landing and made out a door in the distance as flickers of light escaped from the gap at the bottom.

Holding her breath, Molly shuffled forwards and stood just in front of the entrance. She couldn't quite bring herself to open it. Or knock. _Get this over with silly… _Her heart thudded rhythmically as she lifted a fist to knock on the door. However, just as her skin was brushing against the wooden surface – a voice behind her stated a coy,

"It's open you know."

Molly turned around and gasped as Jim appeared. He stood and watched her dazed expression curiously. A smirk then danced on his lips as he theatrically held his hands up in false surrender. "_Ah_, call the cops! – Dear me, I was just making _coffee._" Jim rolled his eyes, lowering his arms with a huffy breath, "—come on… surprise doesn't look attractive at this time of day." He brushed past her and pushed the door as she returned from the haze of shock. _Oh god… _Swallowing mutely, she followed after him as he strolled inside the dimly-lit room.

Instantly his mumbled rambling initiated.

"—I had someone buy you muesli… quite disgusting ain't it? – but each man to their own… made some coffee… although it's the instant kind so I apologize as instant is shit… " He paused his chant as he pivoted and gave her a wide smile. She was quivering, eyes darting around confusedly – as if she couldn't quite pinpoint where to look. Stealing her attention, Jim stepped forwards and held up the hand gun she had kept in her coat pocket.

Molly paled instantly. He shrugged.

"No weapons in the house." He pronounced exactingly, "—or at _least _till we finish, 'kay? Cute though…" His large brown eyes inspected the weapon meticulously. Realizing something, he laughed and turned to her, "You know… it might help if you _load _it before you bring it anywhere."

"It's loaded." Molly blurted out. _It is… I remember. _

"Is it?" Jim's face contorted into a baffled expression as he pressed his lips together and pointed the gun at her. Before Molly could even _comprehend_ a reaction, he pulled the trigger.

_Click. _

_- oh god. _Molly's stomach muscles clenched as she stared at him. No gunshot. _No bullet._ She lives."Hm," Jim puffed, pocketing the gun bemusedly, "Good thing I was right, eh?"

Her chest heaved loudly as her eyes met his. He was smiling. It brought back the memories of her abduction and that night with Marlow. Clearly, they were memories that would always haunt her when she was with him. She shook her head. "That… that wasn't right." Molly managed, watching as he scrunched up his nose and shrugged.

"You didn't believe me." He announced, "—what did I say about doing that?"

So she was being taught a lesson. _Lesson learned. _Jim raised his eyes to the ceiling and back. "Why don't we have breakfast now?" He suggested casually, "You certainly look like you need some."

Molly exhaled. It was here when she noticed his clothes. Pyjamas. They were striped and navy blue. He also wore a grey jumper – black hair dishevelled. Eyes. _Tired. _Molly was sure she had never seen the man so "dressed down" - but clearly even without the expensive suit, his scale-breaking ego was to remainuntainted.

"Go on," he articulated, "Make yourself at home. Just don't make –"

"A mess." Molly mumbled, recalling the advice from last time.

Jim nodded, "That's right."

He sauntered away. Molly realized that the spot where he had stood was where Marlow was shot. The bloody splatter on the carpet was gone. Spotless. She wondered if he had cleaned it up himself.

Jim noticed her looking.

"_Vanish Oxi-Action_," He stated as he stood by her, arms folded, "—it works absolute wonders with… carpet stains."

Unbelievable. Molly clenched her jaw together. My goodness, she wasn't sure how she could feasibly prevent herself from becoming the next little carpet stain to clean up. She wanted to stay calm. But he was - _Just, breathe. _Her thoughts paused as she realized that his laughter had died.

He was staring at her now.

"I would have dressed for the occasion," Jim drawled - gesturing towards his pyjama bottoms, "But I sort of _am_. I've been trying to get to sleep for ages but I knew I had to see you beforehand…never could sleep when I had something left to finish…" His tone was trailing as his smirk resurfaced. Molly could see that he was trying to _get _to her. Prompt her into turning into a bubbly pool at the bottom of his feet.

_I can't always let him scare me. _"Jim. I'm hungry." She stated quickly, catching his gaze instantly.

He smirked.

"Then let me…feed…you."

That statement crawled with all sorts of _wrong_ connotations. Molly supposed she had pushed herself into that one. "For _Christ's _sake!" Molly blushed deeply, "- why do you have to make everything sound so wrong?" The words had dribbled out of mortification; her blush deepened.

Clearly the outburst had taken him by surprise. Jim quickly began to laugh. Raspy. And amidst the hiccups of laughter, out slipped a -

"Sorry."

And just like that - it was Molly's turn to be surprised. He shook his head as the laughter stopped - completely overlooking the change of expression on Molly's face. _Did he mean that_? She wondered _- Maybe. _And quickly, the dread was overwhelmed with warm curiosity. The good feeling didn't stray though. Considering how many more double entendres Jim managed through the next fifteen minutes as he prepared them "breakfast" -

Molly concluded that the "sorry" had been a fluke. A momentary spasm in his overall complex and mad brain.

* * *

><p>He had been right about the muesli.<p>

Molly had been away from the food so long that she had forgotten what it was that had made her like it in the first place. She had eaten it from _nine_. Muesli became life more than breakfast. Now she realized how much she had missed - how pancakes and frozen profiteroles were far better-tasting in the morning than unrolled oats and dry fruit. She did manage a mouthful. However for the most part, she had watched Jim drink his coffee and eat his bowl of _Coco Pops. _Molly had almost choked on a raisin when she saw the box. _"What_?" He had questioned, bemused by her expression, "_never had a bowl of these? Molly tut tut… how do you live?" _He hadn't spoken for about five minutes now - busied by yesterday's business pages.

Turning a page, Jim glanced up and passed her a playful smile.

"Not hungry again?" he quipped, tone mocking, "my god… you really don't eat too much do you? I pity the bloke who takes you out for an expensive buffet…" His toothy smile seemed to stretch as Molly's gaze uncomfortably dashed around the room to avoid his eyes.

The study-like room was perfect; almost exactly how she remembered it. It was clean –barely dusty despite the old furniture. However she did note that there weresweets everywhere. Small bags of chocolate spread around in random places. Lollipops. Cadbury variety bags. It looked like he was readying himself for Halloween.

_I didn't lie about everything. _Now that Molly thought about it, Jim-from-IT had admitted to a fervent sweet-tooth. And gum obsession. She recalled his stories of fainting at the Cadbury chocolate factory and asking for a Thorntons bunny every Easter. Could they have been lies? Probably. Although they had seemed so adorable at the time.

She heard him sigh. "Markets. Such depressing sods." Jim murmured, shutting the newspaper and brushing his hands together, "I mean the stock exchange is – " Molly watched as his expression changed. Clearly, he realized that the person he was talking to had no clue on financial matters. After all she had barely scraped O-Level Economics at school.

Taking a breath, Jim leaned back in his sofa as he eyed her.

"As I'm … sure you've guessed there is… a different purpose for you being here…parting from breakfast…" he trailed as Molly leaned forwards, expecting what was to come – "it is about that _job. _You see… I wanted you to take this one. Personally. I was moments from sending you the details but a little birdie – called _Sebastian _– told me that you weren't too keen…" He narrowed his eyes at her, playful smirk fading against the coldness that instantly gripped his features, "—I wanted to make sure that this… was the case. After all. We've _talked _about this. Do you remember? I told you… to try harder... Ringing any bells?"

"Jim…" Molly sighed as she fingered her sleeve, "I don't feel ready yet."

She knew the sentence hit a nerve as his face twisted into one of disdain. "_No_…no you… don't you get it? There is no… ready…. You do what I tell you. _That's _how it works." He tousled the top of his hair as he exhaled in frustration – "Molly you don't want… to be wasting my time… _darling_… I want you to be good… that's why I'm giving this to you… can't… can't just…_be _so…" Each word was skipping up an octave in pitch. Jim rubbed his eyes vehemently, knuckles white. He then buried his face in his hands, ruffling his hair in habit. Molly found herself holding her breath as the frustration in his manner swelled. He was mumbling – wholly incoherent. She could discern his aggravated tone. He was definitely angry. But Molly sensed something else in his composure.

Something even more obvious.

_Exhaustion._ "Jim…" she murmured, blinking at him, "I… you're very tired. _Please_… I'll just… I'm …" _sorry. _Molly watched as his hands slipped from his face, revealing large raw eyes. Bloodshot. His jaw was clenched as he growled a short –

"Then say you'll do it."

"I -"

"Do it." His voice was prickly. It induced a sinister silence that made Molly's head hurt.

_He hasn't slept in a while. Three days says his eyes. _Utterly gripped by his features, Molly found herself nodding. "Fine…" she affirmed weakly, "I'll do it." A sensation overwhelmed her then. She wasn't sure what it was. But nothing in her mind seemed to be making much sense as she watched him.

"Good." Jim breathed, gaze lowering.

_You just said yes to shooting five men you've never met _-

"I'll send you the details then… it's in a week's time… got… got…" The man yawned, eyes fluttering. Molly couldn't deny that it looked about as cute as it looked uncharacteristic. "—got to meet with Cots…Cotswald… Bastian will tell you…" He then flexed thin hands. Molly found herself nodding, failing to notice that a smile had pressed on her lips as he talked.

When she did the smile faded. "I… I'd better go," she nodded, standing up dazedly, "—yes I should -"

"Already?" Jim posed curiously.

_Well of course. _Molly eyed him. There had been something in his tone. A playful whinge? A mocking jest? She couldn't quite tell. "Yes." she responded, biting her lower lip as she locked eyes with him. He was most definitely sleep-deprived. The corners around his eyes seemed tense. But his gaze. It was - _disappointed? _

"Stay." Jim ordered her, toneless as he closed his eyes.

Molly blinked. _What?_- "I want to go. Please." she mumbled, glancing away from him. Why did he want her to stay? A silence interjected before she heard him exhale loudly.

"Fine." His hands returned to his face, "Your gun's by the _shooooes_."

The last word was almost _sung_.

Molly found herself narrowing her eyes in discomfort.

_Jim are you_ - "Okay," she muttered as she maneouvred gracefully towards the door. The gun was by the shoe rack. Pivoting her head, Molly found her face twisting piteously as Jim's hunched silhouette filled her gaze. She knew what she was meant to do. Turn the door handle. Get out. However, something attempted to pull her in the opposite direction - something remarkably strong. But as she retrieved her coat, she knew it hadn't been strong enough.

"Bye… Jim." she called out, unsure where the urge to say that had come from.

He responded with an ominous _hm - _figure unmoving.

Molly took a breath and left the flat.

* * *

><p><em>Cotswald. <em>Jim had said something about Cotswald.

Perched on the bottom of the staircase, Molly glanced up as she heard Sebastian's footsteps from behind her. "Early bird," he drawled in greeting as he brushed past her – eager to make his morning routine of cigarettes and Earl Grey. She passed him a smile, evidently pleased that his mood seemed to have improved since yesterday. Although, Jim might have already informed him that she had accepted the job. _That's probably it. _She glanced down at her watch.

_05:50 am. _

It remained early. She had been unable to fall back to sleep. After her 'breakfast' with Jim, her mind had been filled by his face. His tired, thin face. It was bizarre. Jim Moriarty in pyjamas eating Coco Pops. _Something _about that was bizarre. She managed a gawky grin knowing that it had been his persistence that she stayed that had stuck most in her thoughts. It was almost like he wanted company.

_Psh. Don't be daft. _That was true. "Oi, Hooper." She heard Sebastian call from the kitchen, "—thought you got a meeting today. Get ready will you?"

"_Yes_, sir." Molly responded back, grinning as she imagined the tall blonde rolling his eyes.

She then wandered ponderously down to her room, curious as to what this meeting would entail.

* * *

><p>"Range… rover…" Molly glanced around the empty street as she attempted to spot the brand of car. It took her a few moments to spot the huge black <em>Range Rover <em>parked at the edge of the street. Tucking her scarf into her coat, she wandered towards it deciding it was the car Sebastian had said that she was using. He had gone out for his morning jog. After procrastinating for an hour, Molly decided that it was time to go. She had scribbled down an address. The car definitely had GPS navigation. She was ready. However she could still feel her eyes stinging from fear. _Who the heck is Cotswald? What am I meant to say? –_

Lips parting as she reached the car and fished out the keys, Molly blinked as she realized that _Sebastian _was in the driving seat. He was watching her, face brooding as usual. She gawped as she pranced over to the pavement and pulled open the passenger seat. About to state something in the lines of, _"oh Sebastian I thought you were running!_" – Molly was greeted by a rather gruff:

"Get in."

The man initiated the engine, jaw clenched as he stared at her. Molly blinked owlishly for a few seconds as she got into the front passenger seat. She then turned her head to him.

"Sebastian," she said, "—are you _taking _me there?"

The man scowled. "Don't ask stupid questions… of_ course _I'm taking you there," He grumbled, "Did you really think you'd go up to Cotswald's alone?"

Molly's eyes grew instantly shiny. Relief_. _Sebastian had watched this change of expression with dull eyes. He scowled again before placing on a pair of sunglasses. Leaning his head back, he huffed at her glowing expression scornfully.

"Don't you _dare_ get sentimental on me Hooper… I _swear _I will kill the engine." He mumbled, prompting her to laugh gently.

"Thanks." Molly nodded, "I appreciate it."

"Yes. Whatever."

A large smile spread across her lips.

Now, Sebastian would probably deny it to the depths of hell itself but Molly did see - deep in the corner of his mouth - a _smile_ form. Yes, it was small. Tiny. Nonetheless, it gave her a newfound affection for the naturally straight-faced sniper.

There was a smile hidden in those lips after all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: You have no idea how writing this story makes my life so much better. It's unbelievable. Anyway, about Jim. Sorry. He's weird. There will be more instances of him in the next section especially [this one is close to its end] - even though writing him terrifies me [:D]. About Sherlock!John other characters. You see I never thought this story would get particularly far. But in my head, I'd love to write it so that its conclusion will be basically "The Final Problem" [my version of it anyhow]. We'll just have to see. But yes. In ideal circumstances, they will return. Because possibly the section after next [or next, next] , is going to be about Molly's dealings with human!Jim's rapid deterioration. Because let's face it. He's gone cuckoo by 02x03. And about Jim, I want him to be cocky!arsey!pissy! but not totally insane. Hopefully, my portrayal of him is acceptable. If not. I will continue trying! Much thanks for reading as usual! **


	17. Section II: Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

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><p>Their destination was reached within two hours of travel. Molly realized how much she would have struggled to locate <em>anything <em>in the weather. It had started raining ten minutes into pulling onto the motorway. This had not made Sebastian particularly happy. He had grumbled the whole time, face glum. Molly had noted that it had been a while since his last cigarette. Afraid of being bitten for talking, she said nothing until he broke the silence himself.

"Don't shake hands with him." Sebastian muttered to her, his first words in a while as they entered an enclosed car park.

"What?" Molly blinked, unsure what he was referring to.

"Cotswald," he continued, eyes darkening as if the very name was toxic, "—he doesn't wash them."

Her eyes widening and mentally noting the advice, Molly waited till the car halted before exiting. It was only when she shut the car door that she realized how stupid she had been. Why the heck was she out? She had no idea what she was doing! Fumbling, she was about to hop back into the car when a figure stood watching her at the edge of the car park. It was empty. Molly could only assume that it was private – as amongst everything she had found in Jim's business. Summoning up an unbelievable amount of gut, she ambled forwards deciding that Sebastian would catch up with her. _Definitely. _

"Uh… Mr Cotswald?" Molly's hazel eyes picked up on a rather round man. He was wearing a despicably ugly green jumper. Old. _Balding. _She couldn't help but feel that he looked discernibly cliché for someone who worked in 'crime-trading'. Molly had guessed that he did. Arms dealer? Maybe. He walked towards her, green eyes narrowed irreverently. She couldn't help but feel that he had expected someone else. The fact that he looked so unhappy confirmed her suspicions.

"Who are you?" Cotswald spat, eyes examining her – up. Down. "—are you _lost _or something?" He reached her, little eyebrows knotted together. Molly couldn't help but feel slightly affronted. His accent was most definitely English; northern perhaps. But that didn't reduce her growing dislike for him.

_Misogynist? _"No… I'm not… I'm here to –"

"Always a gentleman, eh?" she heard Sebastian interject smoothly as he sauntered forwards – significantly better-mannered as he held a lit cigarette within two fingers.

A sudden change came over Cotswald's manner as Sebastian approached.

"Seb," the man grinned widely, as if greeting an old acquaintance, "I didn't know you were recruiting…" Green eyes turned to her before the sickly smile returned.

Sebastian exhaled a cloud of smoke straight into the displeased man's face as a response. Cotswald spluttered loudly but masked the hatred with an array of bright chuckles.

"Hello to you too." Cotswald's eyes then turned to her, flustered smile appearing more false as he chuckled, "—sorry about that. I'm Horton. Cotswald. It's a pleasure…"

And there came the handshake.

Molly's eyes widened,"Uh… you too." she noted, passing the man an awkward smile deciding to take Sebastian's initial advice.

Noting her dismissal, Cotswald wrinkled his nose before adopting another false grin.

"Shall we proceed?" he drawled, leading the way.

* * *

><p>Sebastian had murmured that he would prefer if she sat out for the meeting. Molly had been hesitant but agreed eventually. She sat outside the corridor where Cotswald had lead them, listening wearisomely to the rainfall. When Sebastian came out, he looked imperiously cigarette-deprived and was carrying a paper-bag. He brushed past her and Molly followed undeniably curious.<p>

"What's in the bag?" she piped up, quietly guessing as Sebastian's pale eyes cornered her.

"Lunch." He stated as they walked back to the car.

Of course Molly had refused to believe this fact _until _she saw the man take out a sandwich and begin to eat it while reversing out of the car park. "You can eat some," he offered half-heartedly, as Molly shook her head unsure if she was feeling like ham at the moment. She remained uninformed about the meeting - but she knew that she would have to extract the information somehow.

Snapping her seatbelt on, Molly glanced up as the car approached a roundabout. "He's… he's terribly cliché isn't he?" she pronounced as Sebastian's eyes naturally turned towards her.

"Who is?" he retorted.

"Cotswald," she pressed, attempting her best at a straight face, "—you know…in the movies… you always get… the creepy man who knows everything and… you go up to him if you want to ask something…"

"_No_," the blonde man rasped, eyes narrowed, "The creepy man who knows everything is _the boss. _Men like Cotswald know belly up…" Sebastian grumbled, approaching the motorway, "—he used to run a dealership business. Now he operates as an envoy…and _movies? _Christ Hooper... honestly..."

Molly noted that Sebastian's mutters were growing exasperated.

"So… why don't you like him?" she asked, making sure not to infect it with too much curiosity.

Sebastian laughed coldly.

"Because the bloke's a _prick_." He stated, looking away.

Prick was a bit harsh. Not wanting to spoil his mood any further, Molly expressed a light nod and decided that for now – she'd got everything she wanted. When they reached the flat, Sebastian eventually explained that Cotswald organized things internationally far better than most when it came to arms. He would be contacting the supplier for Molly's "things" in Turin. It was fair to say that she had wished she'd never asked.

* * *

><p>"You have to shoot them like dominos. <em>One. Two. Three. Four…<em>" Fingers arranged in a gun-like pose, Sebastian cocked his hand upwards as he imagined an invisible target and announced, "_Five_."

He could only envisage the scene as hectic if the shots were not produced as regular as he had instructed. It had to be done with the beats of the heart. Quick. So no-one would even have the time to _think _of running. Lowering his hand, Sebastian's eyes drew towards Molly's face knowingly. She was staring at him; expression absolutely vacant. He had spent almost an hour educating her on the basics of sniping. The _do's_. Don'ts. And the _definite _don'ts (shortened from 'mistakes that make Sebastian hate the human race'). She had not interrupted throughout. And as _if _he couldn't be anymore surprised, she had also refrained from tears.

She held the sniper gun unconfidently, face twisted into a crumpled expression."You know how to construct it, don't you?" Sebastian asked, a little confused by the look on her face, "—I just taught you. Do you want me to go over it again?"

"No…no…" she mumbled, "I… I get this."

"Then why are you giving me that face?" The man demanded, arching a brow. It was a face that he couldn't quite place. Not fear. Not excitement. It was – _worry_? He felt the urge to shout overcome him. He hated seeing _worry. _Sebastian's motto was quite simple: _don't fuck up the job; worry about the rest later. _It always worked. And he always made sure to emphasise its motivational overtone when he wanted to annoy the hell out of his gunmen. However Hooper was different; she wasn't a gunman. And much to Sebastian's disdain, she was going to perform a job that he doubted she would complete.

Taking a breath, the man sat by his piano and stared at the keys. _C… D.. E…_His fingers tapped each key as he thought deeply. "Five targets Hooper," he stated – voice uncomfortably delicate, "—all at the same place. You're not going to kill them. Just shoot them…" _with ridiculous doses of benzodiazepine to prepare them for a night of interrogation and waterboarding… "_—just do what I told you..." That was sound advice; number one on Sebastian's 'definite don't's – _not following my instructions. _

Nothing had ever beat the frustration from hearing about an ignorant idiot overlooking what he'd said and ending up dead with multiple stab wounds in the middle of Egypt. _Prick._

"…there's no need to… _worry_." Bollocks really. Even he would need a good pack of cigarettes to get the adrenaline rush for five instant shots. He really would have relished the challenge; unfortunately it was not to be.

Lips pursing ruefully, the man drummed long fingers over the gleaming piano keys. He could see her face – looming over the kit as she attempted to plug the scope the wrong way. Inside he almost punctured an artery. He _knew _what he had to do - just didn't want to do it. After all, he had never done it for an employee before. Compromised.

Bloody Moriarty. _Why her_ – "The… the good thing is you're not doing it alone," Sebastian announced wearily as her head instantly snapped up. Eager. Like a kid being told about a holiday to _Disney-sodding-world. _

"I'm… I'm not?" she was gawping.

"No." he answered coldly, forcing himself to scan through the list of names and choosing one, "—Newall's coming with you."

"Charlie?" _Gawp. _

Sebastian thought about the concept mercilessly in his head for a few more seconds. He was doing this for the success of this potentially profitable job. For his own patience – his blood pressure. Yes. It was the only thing he could do to secure that Hooper would at least _get _to Turin without being buggered down. Personal sensitivities gave absolutely _nothing _to this argument. He didn't pity her. No. But the boss would probably want her home alive. _Maybe. _C. D. E. Sharp. Sharp. _F_. Inducing a gentle tune in his mind, the man's eyes locked with the woman's as his thoughts reached a conclusive decision.

"Yes." He stated simply, "Charlie."

The gawping stopped as an instant veil of relief washed over her. Sebastian exhaled, deciding his heart rate probably required a good two cigarettes. "You were right the first time," he stated blankly as he stood up, watching as she began to work through the weapons kit again, "—that one…yeah… now—"

"Like this?" Molly held the twenty five percent of the gun she had pulled together.

"Try again." Sebastian muttered, watching as Shakespeare yawned affectionately by her feet. The dog had been relatively quiet for the past hour; a welcomed change to the yapping Sebastian had been condemned to ever since receiving the damn mutt.

But enough about that. For now, he had someone to see.

Possibly to argue with.

* * *

><p>His employer's mood appeared restored after three hours of undisturbed sleep. <em>Good. <em>Sebastian leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest as he watched his superior fling a metal dart into the empty wall across him. He had been offering to buy the bloke a dart board for _six _years now. Jim had always laughed it off with _'that's not the point of this_.' Sebastian never got the point.

"Sir," he stated gruffly, "I wanted to… ask you about –"

"No." Jim dismissed sternly having already calculated his purpose within seconds of entering the room, "The answer is _still _no."

The expression on Sebastian's face fell. _Oh come on_- "_But_ sir… this job...needs a gunman…"

It was a pointless argument. Jim flicked the final dart into the wall – creating a perfect shape of _whatnot _with the angle of _somethingdegrees_ – and turned to him, face utterly hollow. It did not matter how important or profitable a job was. To Jim Moriarty it was all the same. _Just jobs._

"I told you that this is _her_ job. No gunmen. Newall, _fine_. But no gunmen. If she gets it done - woopdedoo," the Irish man's tone changed, "—if she doesn't then she's proved herself useless and she _dies_. It's routine Moran. You're supposed to be good with routines you British idiot."

There was no hint of resentment in Jim's voice. Sebastian knew that this was when he should be most wary. And when he should let the man have his way. Even if he was being utterly unreasonable.

"Yes boss." Sebastian nodded, already restless for a cigarette.

"Good. Now be a _dear _and pass my protractor."

* * *

><p>Sebastian had given her two days until she was off. He had postponed all training and said something about <em>preparation in other ways. <em>

Molly wasn't sure what that meant. She had spent the first day dog-walking and perched on Sebastian's couch reading his copy of _'The Turn of the Screw'. _He had been busied by something so he wasn't in the flat. Molly should have felt tonnes more comfortable in the silence but it had become unbearable. She had been unable to cope with the weight of her thoughts. Every second that passed edged her ever closer to _it. The job. _The _pivotal _moment that would change everything that Molly had ever thought of herself. And she was brilliantly frightened. Petrified.

The second day dragged past and she had done the same thing. But this time Sebastian had been home. He had played the piano, violin and the guitar while she had sat - barely absorbing the words from the book. When it turned dark, Molly trudged back downstairs – bid both masters of the house goodnight – and collapsed onto her mattress. She had prayed that the terror – the dread… they would lull her tearful thoughts to bed.

_02:32am._

They hadn't.

It wasn't long now. Shutting her eyes to bar the temptation of tears, Molly found herself jolting upwards as her phone vibrated in her hand. Blinking frigidly, she glanced down at the shiny screen:

**02:35**

**Bon voyage for later. – J.**

Him again. For some reason she found herself compelled to reply. Sniffing against the cold air, quivering fingers pressed against the screen:

**02:35**

**Thanks.**

The response that came in return seemed magnanimously amused. As if he hadn't expected her to respond at all.

**02:36**

**You should be resting. Long day ahead. – J**

Molly sat up, flicking the switch of her bedroom lamp as she typed.

**02:37**

**I can't sleep. **

_Too scared. Too sick. Maybe too tired. _Her mind added gently.

Seated, bathed in light Molly felt the need to just stay like this until morning. She wasn't sure whether it would be worth going back to bed if she was going to lie there sobbing herself to sleep. Perhaps Sebastian would be awake and she could go and ask to sit in and watch him play instead. He wasn't awake; normally he would be at this time but even the most stubborn of insomniacs sleep eventually. Molly could wait. Taking a deep breath, her gaze flickered at the new response on the screen:

**02:30**

**Come over. – J.**

Somehow, Molly found herself considering this. She really should have refused. However before she even managed to think twice, she was already sauntering down the street. _Why_? Her mind asked.

_It's the same answer every time_, Molly's head answered: _because it's him. _

* * *

><p>Jim had made tea. It had tasted far too nice than the Tetleys pouch she was used to. It tasted so exclusive she had found herself unable to finish. Seated across Jim in his army of couches, Molly decided that it was probably his staring that was putting her off. Plus he seemed to be eating a ridiculous amount of custard creams. It was <em>again<em>, bizarre.

"Why can't you sleep?" he asked her, "Bed-bugs?"

"Probably," she answered quietly before passing him a look, "why aren't you… asleep?"

Jim smiled. "I don't like sleeping."

"Why not?"

"It's a waste of time_._" The man pursed his lips thinly as he leaned back, dressed in rose-smelling cashmere. Molly watched him, feeling the need to say something as his eyes swivelled. It was the expression of someone who was jaded. She didn't want to bore him. Not that it mattered. "I think I should get some new furniture don't you?" he quipped curiously, mumbling, "—maybe a new grandfather clock… _or _a new desk… I like desks… what do you think?"

"Um…" it was bad; she thought everything was beautiful as it was, "I think you should get new… curtains…they're… a little tacky."

"_Tacky_?" The man's eyebrow rose, "They were handmade you know."

"Oh," Molly blinked, fidgeting anxiously, "Sorry."

Jim began to chuckle again. Molly used to find the noise quite sinister; now she was beginning to believe that he truly laughed like that. That he wasn't being fake. Although a part of her knew she was being stupidly naïve for even trying to believe that. This was Jim. He barely seemed real at times.

His brown eyes gleamed as he stared at her, "You're scared of the job." He retorted, "It's easy."

Molly could have laughed. But instead she found herself expressing a wheezy breath. "No," she murmured, "it's not. Sebastian told me it was… but I knew he was lying. I can tell when people… lie…" Jim lowered his teacup, passing her a look. _Well, you didn't catch that I was a serial-fucking-murderer did you? _No, she didn't. Fair point. "…normally… I just… it's harder when…" _you fancy the pants off someone_, "…but for the… most part… I can tell…I think…but… Sebastian is a _horrible _liar anyway." He was. Molly found that he was far more monotonous when he lied. As if even his lips couldn't be arsed to play along.

The man across her broke a biscuit in half and chewed it thoughtfully. Eventually he nodded at her. "Yes, you're right. It's… hard," he stated, "but its life isn't it? _This _is your life now… it will only get harder…" the man's voice trailed as he unclasped his fingers and brushed off stray crumbs from the side of his seat.

Molly watched him, the warmth of the tea settling peacefully at the bottom of her stomach. She found herself nodding – knowing that this had been the _only _thing she had thought about throughout the two days. She had brought this on herself. She couldn't even press much blame on Jim anymore. "I… I'm… I'm just afraid," she finally murmured, bowing her head low as she prevented him from seeing the moisture brimming in her eyes, "… afraid….of _dying_… and I know it's so stupid because I see death all the time… as you said… but for me… I'm afraid…and it's wrong because…"

She sighed and quietly added:

"…because it's what people _do_… it's what we all…have to do…"

A short burst of silence resulted as Jim swallowed down the final half of his biscuit. He watched her, brown eyes barely moving as she discreetly wiped the bottom of her eyes with her sleeve. Silently, he leaned forwards and offered her the dusty tissue box sat on the bottom of his coffee table. She glanced up as she retrieved it from him.

He gave her a few seconds to compose herself before stating, "You are going to do the job. _Properly. _Molly. You don't want to be like Marlow…no… you're good… I can tell." He folded his arms across his chest, "Always have."

"That's a lie." Molly nodded, biting her lower lip, "I can tell."

"Really?" Jim narrowed his eyes, "So… you don't believe me?"

The playfulness in that sentence reminded her instantly of belief. How Jim had wanted her to _believe_ him. Caught in the headlights, Molly opened her lips to answer but then the man across her shook his head. He gritted his teeth and tilted his head to the side to catch her gaze.

"I think you should go back to bed." Jim articulated simply, "You'll need the sleep."

"Okay."

Molly blinked as Jim's lips curved.

"Alternatively…" he drawled, "you can always stay and share mine_._"

The man watched the colour on her face drain before scowling dramatically, "I was _joking. _Honestly Mollybear. You used to be fun!"

_Mollybear. _She had forgotten the last time he'd called her that. It sounded so different in his real accent. Almost amicable.

"I…I'll pass thank you." she murmured as he pulled the door open for her.

"Maybe next time." Jim retorted as she swept past him.

Her face flushed as she stumbled down Jim's staircase. He stood there watching her until she disappeared.

By the time Molly got home, it only took a few seconds of mute thoughts before she fell straight into a deep sleep - ready for her day ahead.

* * *

><p><em>Today's the day <em>was her enthusiastic initial thought when she woke up. Her head ached. She stood in the kitchen making coffee as Sebastian strolled in, scratching thin blonde hair. They exchanged their customary morning greetings before Molly found herself blinking at him. He stared back, lips pressed together as if he was to tell her something. He stayed silent in the end and simply cocked his head up to the time - an indication that the car would be outside in ten minutes - and passed her a nod.

When she packed up her things and made for the door, Molly found herself glancing at an email on her phone. It was untitled and sent by an unknown address. She opened it and realized that it was an attachment of files. A _lot _of them. It must be Sebastian's. Hauling her bag over her shoulder, Molly's eyes flickered onto the words written on the message itself:

_good luck. SM._

"Bye Shakespeare." Molly found herself mumbling at the dog as Shakespeare seemed to whine at her feet. "I'm going to miss you too," she nodded, smiling softly, "Hopefully. I'll see you when I get back okay?" _If I do. _The dog's barks were the last thing she heard when she closed the door.

* * *

><p>"Morning Miss Molly." Charlie greeted as he plopped next to her - entering the car with a wolfish smile. Molly smiled back and uttered "morning". It was quiet after that. He sensed that she was nervous and since they had a long journey ahead, he offered her a small object entangled in a web of headphone wires. She stared at the iPod before retrieving it.<p>

Molly wasn't sure what to do. "Is this yours?" she murmured, "I wouldn't want to take it if you need it." After all, everyone seemed attached to their music players in her opinion. Especially Sebastian. Even though music would probably be nice for the lengthy journey to Turin.

"Use it." the blonde man responded, "I don't listen to music when I work. Plus - Grim's been the one shoving music inside so no clue what's in it anymore." _Grim - Adelaide. _A little sheepish, Molly began to unravel the headphones. She wasn't sure if she had ever owned one of these; if she had she'd probably lost them as she was terribly forgetful.

"Thanks." she stated with a smile.

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes was how long it took for the gravity of the situation to finally hit her. <em>Christ.<em> Her large eyes hovered over to Charlie as he sat staring at his netbook screen. _Please_ her mind silently murmured, _hold my hand; I can't take it. I'm too scared. I'll cry. I'll do something stupid. _The composure she had kept through the morning was on the verge of breaking - it was upsetting. Opening her mouth to say something, Molly was suddenly silenced by a sudden blast of loud music gusting through her ears.

Flipping the volume button down, Molly recognized it as the introduction to ACDC's _Highway to Hell. _Now even she had to smile at _that_. Taking her phone, she slowly scrolled through Sebastian's lengthy attachments list and began at the bottom. She had a few hours of driving ahead of her. Listening tensely to the music, she began to comb through them. Within minutes the song stopped. The next song was vindictively familiar. Upon hearing the tune, she found herself blinking as it struck a recognizable string in her heart.

_"Just a small town girl livin' in a lonely world. She took the midnight train going anywhere..."_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Jim made Molly do a gunman's job w/o a gunman! It's quite mean of him. And oh Cotswald+ Molly will see each other a lot so thought I'd pop him in. Plus his and Sebastian's unyielding love and respect for each other just amuses me [XD] ****Anyway, after writing this - I thought this chapter seemed quietly rushed. But then I realized how rushed it must feel in Molly's mind. Anyhow, I agree she needs a hug. She will DEFINITELY need a hug in the next chapter [charlie too] Um, oh and I'm a Molliarty shipper so don't worry about it! Oh happy endings. I've not founded a_ concrete_ plan for the ending. Happy or not. So can't confirm for the moment! Now t****hanks as always for your lovely comments and thanks for reading! Honestly. The last 50k+ words have been worth every keyboard tap. Here's to many more!**

**Oh and starshortcake - don't worry, the story won't end for a while! Please don't die! :D **


	18. Section II: Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

><p>Good thing she didn't have car sickness. Two days car travel. <em>Hellish<em>. Molly had been awake for the majority of the journey, wearyingly entertained by the boisterous music produced by Charlie's iPod. They had undergone four car changes and were currently seated in a Ford model. Charlie was driving, humming to himself as he happily drove along. She wasn't sure how he'd managed to stay so _sane _through the journey considering their circumstances.

"We've got a collection to do," Charlie told her, blue eyes swivelling as he poked an address into the GPS equipment pitted into the dashboard, "It's going to be quick. And then we have another collection for the _things_ themselves….busy… busy…" Molly listened to his mumbles and found herself sinking deeply into her seat, head feverish. She had read through the attachments millions of times and knew exactly what he was talking about. The collection of the "payment" and "guns". They had been coded and the codes had been numbers; Charlie explained that it had resonated from the boss' adoration for math.

_'Everything is math_,' the man nodded, _'a calculation here- a sequence there. You get used to speaking his language after a bit.'_

Hands gripping her seat, Molly squeezed her eyes shut recalling the exact words on the document. _Five targets; estimated arrival 20:00. Estimated departure time; 21:00. Collection for targets will commence at 21:30. It is imperative that targets are disposed of by this time. The unsuccessful disposal of one target will secure the failure of the entire affair Code 3 #2301 pm[21qad]. _"Charlie," she glanced up at him, "it's happening tonight right?"

"Yes it is." he answered.

Molly sensed his change in tone. She drummed her fingers on the rubbery leather of her seat belt as she eyed him, "Are you scared?" she asked gently, "I know it must sound silly but... are you?" There was a few seconds of mediocre silence as they approached the centre of the town. The engineer's response eventually came after a thoughtful intermission.

"Yes I am actually." He admitted.

"Oh," Molly blinked, "Why?"

With the absence of his signature smile, Charlie looked different. "Because," his tone paused as he met her gaze, "_because _we are doing a job for gunmen Molly. I'm not a gunman. _You're _not a gunman. This isn't... the field for us at all." He was anxious. Molly could sense it radiating off him like heat. However she knew that dwelling on the matter would make things worse.

She was scared enough.

"I'm sorry," she found herself mumbling.

Charlie seemed bemused. "For what?"

"For dragging you down here with me." Molly clarified sheepishly as the blonde man began to laugh.

"Don't be daft," he stated, smile returning, "you have nothing to apologize for."

* * *

><p>They had decided (unanimously) to split the collections between them. Molly would collect the payment – he would gather the arms. They would meet at a designated zone after an hour. Okay, Molly had <em>lied. <em>It wasn't a unanimous decision – she had asked Charlie if they could go together. However he had gently argued that they would not have time. "_This would be quicker_," he had said with a reassuring smile, "_trust me, it's going to be easy."_

He hadn't lied. Once reaching the café where Molly was meant to meet 'the contact', she was pulled down by a scruffy-looking man onto a seat. He resembled a university student in his shabby hoodie and trainers. Opening her mouth to say that he must have mistaken her for someone else, Molly blinked as he pushed a leaflet towards her.

"_Parla italiano_?" the man asked gently as Molly shook her head. She spoke no Italian but it didn't take a genius to figure that one out. "Ah, _scusi_," he grinned before clapping his hands together then unclasping them. Molly watched him repeat this gesture a few times. "_Aperto._" he instructed before prodding the leaflet on the table. Hazel eyes lowered at the booklet and realized that it was about recycling?_What? _

"Open this yeah?" she murmured, flicking the book open with a hand.

Inside was a CD enclosed in a clear silver pocket.

Molly narrowed her eyes and smoothed a thumb over the transparent wallet. Glancing up she asked, "Is this it?" The man nodded. He lifted a hand and stated, "_Buona giornata_," before shuffling towards the exit. She had watched him entirely confused. Molly had expected a tall man with a fedora – a briefcase full of money – and a _completely _cliché _'you did not see me here' _punch line. It only took her a few moments to start laughing. How stupid she had been. She had thought that this was going to be like she had seen in movies. This was real life. _Idiot._

There was nothing movie-like about it.

* * *

><p>"-and then he was like <em>Bongiour<em>… something and then left!" Molly finished her tale, glancing at Charlie who was perusing over the chemical bullets they were using. Molly knew what they were. The doses of the psychoactive drugs were alarmingly large. She and Charlie had agreed that they weren't fatal but they weren't healthy either.

Fidgeting with her hands, she glanced across at the little innocuous house that was going to be the eventual meeting place of their five targets. They were parked at the bottom of the street. It wasn't a pleasant neighbourhood as far as she could tell so their car looked magnificently out-of-place. This was why Charlie was packing them up to use the small apartment across the street the clienteles have set aside for them. "They really thought of everything." Molly found herself stating as Charlie glanced at her.

"Oh yeah," the man nodded, pocketing his pistol involuntarily, "it's cause they want this done with as little mess as possible."

"That makes all of us." She retorted with a grimace.

* * *

><p>Once inside the empty flat, Molly peeked through the thin curtains and felt her heart thud as she realized how <em>close <em>the place appeared. How in a few hours – it was going to be her centre of gravity. Surprisingly calm, she rubbed the corners of her eyes as she began to help Charlie construct the guns. "You know how to do this?" he retorted, cross-legged as he plugged the scope the wrong way, "—I'm afraid I have no clue; most of what Sebastian tells me goes right out…"

Molly chuckled, "It's easy," she nodded, taking the large pieces and recalling how much she had practiced this when Sebastian left the room that one afternoon, "Just watch. I numbered the pieces."

"You _numbered _them?"

"I like to count." She admitted, "—just like I counted how many lampposts I saw after we drove off the main road." Charlie began to laugh at her. Molly began to laugh too, shaking her head. "Five," she nodded, passing him a nod, "just in case you wanted to know!"

"Okay fine," the man answered brightly, chucking her his pistol as he prepared to unload the rest of the gear, "Keep this for me will you? Just in case _fun _happens before I get back."

Molly nodded.

* * *

><p><em>18:00.<em> The road outside was silent. Molly sat with Charlie, both their backs pressed against the wall. They had been in conversation for a long time. She had been unable to turn her attention away from him because of how much he was willing to say. He had told her about the circumstances that eventually lead him to Jim – or _M _as they all ended up calling him. Charlie had been born to a privileged life in Maidstone, Kent due to a very successful family business. However the business went into administration three years ago and his family filed for bankruptcy. It was the debts that remained that became the problem.

"There was no other income," he had sighed, "I've got two young siblings… I had to help…them. _Everybody _had to help. Our family had been… arrogant. No savings. Everything was lost in repaying debts that should have never been there…"

And so he quit his masters and began looking for work. It turned out that Jim had been watching him a while due to the mutual connection they had through Sebastian. Sebastian and Charlie had attended the same prestigious boys' school and Charlie's particular field of interest had been a gap Jim had sought out to fill. "And so one day Sebastian turns up – after _twelve _years – and recruits me. It wasn't hard to decide. Money talks." Charlie had grinned, "And I've worked for him ever since. The money's good. You travel. You… _take and give_." But Molly had felt the sadness beneath his smile. He obviously missed his family. And his degree.

"I don't think he's ever kidnapped a recruit. _Forced_, certainly. But kidnapped?" Charlie announced, tilting his head at her as he changed the subject.

Molly responded with a sarcastic chuckle.

"Lucky me."

* * *

><p><em>19:00. <em>They sat in darkness, Molly found herself expressing a sigh as she noted the time. "How do you do this?" she managed, partly rhetorical, "I don't understand. You're…so nice… and yet…" She stopped and shivered against the cold. She didn't notice Charlie mulling over her question until he turned to her.

"What I've told you… Molly," he paused, fidgeting "It's _all _true. But I don't want you to ever see me as…_good_. I practiced in electrical engineering but the base line is that I _make _bombs. I plan. I draw up blueprints. I wire things. I _blow _them up." His eyes appeared varnished as he watched her expression, "—I just don't want you to think that… I don't know what I'm doing. Because I do. The things I make _murder _people. All sorts of people. Genuinely good people...sometimes and… I still sleep at night. You just get _used _to it. Eventually you become so used to the idea of death that you begin to stop caring…"

"Oh Charlie," she shook her head, "No. That's a horrible thing to say."

"But it's true."

She didn't reply.

* * *

><p><em>19:45<em>. They really should be getting ready but Molly realized that Charlie hadn't spoken to her in over forty minutes. She glanced at him. He was thinking deeply, evidently upset. "I'm sorry." she breathed, passing him a small smile. It was gentle and she didn't think he really heard her. But he did notice her smile and returned it.

"Almost there." He retorted, rubbing his hands together, "I can't wait till this is over… can you?"

* * *

><p><em>20:14 <em>

The five men were late.

"Oh… god it's them." There was a gritty silence as they watched the group through the scopes. She wasn't sure if she really believed that this was happening. In fact, as she felt a sudden course of adrenaline – Molly was certain that her mind still hadn't fully understood the situation. _It's going to happen. _Her eyes pulled away from the screen as she eyed Charlie. She was trembling.

"I'll take _three_." He pronounced holding up his phone where the photographs of the targets were on screen, "You take him… and him…" The faces of the men made Molly feel ill. But she held her composure and nodded weakly.

A few moments of silence ensued as the lights of the house across turned on. "If… anyone tries to run," she heard Charlie whisper quietly, "shoot them anyway."

* * *

><p><em>20:35<em>

"Molly. You're going to pull the trigger… do you promise me?"

"I will… I will…" Tears were framing the bottom of her eyes as Charlie looked at her.

"_Please_, we're doing this together."

* * *

><p><em>20:50<em>

She hunched over the kit, heart thundering beneath her chest. _Don't do it_, her mind was screeching, _just run away. _It wasn't cold feet. It was her moral voice. It was not going to be long now. Molly was slowly seeing the end point. She never thought it would _feel _like this. _Once it's over… it's over…_She didn't want to do it. No. But as her eyes watched Charlie, she saw him scrolling through the same thought processes. They were in this together. It was a promise.

* * *

><p><em>21:00<em>

Once the clock hit the hour, Molly's heart rate began to sharpen. They weren't out yet. "Charlie?" she murmured, shaking uncontrollably, "where are they?"

* * *

><p><em>21:02<em>

One of the targets came out. Molly's mind blanked. Her stomach flipped as her fingers dug into the metal frame of the kit. _oh god, oh god. Please... oh I'm going to be sick. _"Don't shoot," Charlie calmly instructed, "until they're all out."

* * *

><p><em>21:06<em>

Four still weren't out. "I'm going to pass out," she murmured, impatient and nauseous.

"Please don't," Charlie responded, "otherwise I _will _tell Sebastian and he'll whip both our arses off to flippin' Jupiter."

Molly grinned through broken lips.

* * *

><p><em>21:10<em>. One became five.

It was impulsive. Molly watched through the scope as Charlie's first target stiffened and collapsed onto his knees. _Dominos._ She swivelled her scope and found her first target. No thought. Nothing. She _could _have hesitated. Back pedalled. But she didn't. She pressed against the trigger and shot one. Her gun adjusted. The attack was soundless. She spotted the second man. The trigger was pulled.

* * *

><p><em>21:10:35 <em>

Her second - and final - target collapsed.

* * *

><p><em>21:10:45<em>

The pain in her chest was agonizing as she watched the last man fall cleanly. An uneven silence formed - serenaded only by Molly's garish breathing. She couldn't _think _properly. All of that. It resembled a roller-coaster. All of the senseless waiting -

And then _just like that _it was over.

* * *

><p>Her eyes lingered on the scope's view for a few more seconds. Five slumped on the concrete floor. <em>All over. <em>Tremors of adrenaline were coursing through her body as she glanced up and met Charlie's eyes.

"You did it. _Crap. _Molly well...done." He said as he stood and began to walk across the room.

Molly buried her face into her hands.

_Relief. _"I did," she murmured, "yes." She wanted to cry. And she almost did.

But as she lifted her face from her hands, her ears detected the _zip_ of a familiar object.

* * *

><p>Bullets. The notion of an attack barely registered in Molly's head until she watched Charlie get hurled into the jagged wall behind him. She was motionless - stunned- for a few seconds before she dropped everything and ran towards him. "Charlie!" she yelled, as she saw his body. He was unconscious. Sprawled against the wall.<p>

He was _bleeding _–

Oh god.

No. _No. _She crouched down, ears buzzing from the sounds of the rebounding fire. _What's happening? What's happening to – _"Charlie!" _Don't be dead._ she cried out again, shaking him – panic bubbling up her throat. He was conscious within a few seconds. Blue eyes hazed in slight confusion, he uttered - "What…what…" Molly could see the stain forming through the thin fabric of his shirt. He had been shot in the shoulder. But it wasn't that that concerned her. Charlie moved his hand from where he had reflexively grabbed the top of his head. It was bloody.

They both stared.

"M… Mo…Molly," he was breathing raggedly, pupils dilated - "what…wh…"

"I don't know…" she murmured frantically, eyes dashing around. _What do I do? _Instantly she tried to pull him up, gasping. She couldn't. _Get him out… you both need to get out… _Her head turned.

Bullet holes had destroyed the thin curtain they had hid behind. She didn't know if they were still being shot at. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered right now. Molly tried to pull Charlie up again, tears stroking the edges of her cheeks. "Charlie… we… we…go…" she managed, as she grabbed his bloodied hand, "let's go…" She couldn't pull him up by herself. He was trying to help. But he was in agony.

"Molly..."

He was falling out of consciousness. Blood was dribbling down his face. Molly pulled off her scarf instinctively and pressed it to his head wound. "Please stay awake," she murmured, "stay awake." Her ears were still buzzing. It felt like forever but it had only been a minute. She was covered in his blood. She was confused. Hysterical. Charlie was dying. They were being shot at. What could she do? She didn't know what to do. He was going to die.

They were both probably going to die. But she couldn't let them - not yet. Squeezing his hand, Molly took a deep breath and tried again. She hauled him up as he staggered to help, "I'll get us out," she murmured, shivering, "I'll... get us... out."

The friction of emotion and panic could have pulled her down to surrender. But in her mind was the most basic of instincts. Human survival. Eagerly, Molly held Charlie close - pressed his hand to his head - and eyed the doorway. She forced them both onwards.

_I'll get us out. _Her mind hummed.

She didn't understand why it happened. Or what was happening. But it was there in front of her and all she could do was push on. Her mind initiated a countdown as they limped out of the doorway and into the stairs. Each step they took was a second -

_one_

_two_

_three _

_fo -_


	19. Section II: Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

><p><em>fo -<em>

_She retreated and never touched the fourth step. Her eyes were fixed on a figure by the bottom of the staircase. It was a man. He was looking right at them. She saw his gun. He was shouting at them. Her. She couldn't understand him. __ Charlie's breathing was growing shallow. She knew exactly what she had to do. But he was still shouting._

_"Jesus, don't do it," she murmured "Oh -_

* * *

><p>"-lord, <em>Paganini<em>? Really?"

The dark haired man's head rolled back as he collapsed on the couch, "do you have to play that… _screeching_ again?" His face was crumpled into an expression of melodramatic agony as the man across him grinned. The musician increased his rate of play and listened out for the scowl.

"What's wrong with Paganini, boss?" Sebastian drawled, smirking.

"_Everything_," Jim responded, hand over his eyes as he sighed, "—play Vivaldi. Bach. _Someone _else, my god Sebastian… please."

It was difficult not to find James Moriarty amusing when he was trapped in a bored matrix. Although excessively moody, periods of restlessness did the man good. Well. In Sebastian's opinion anyway. It was easier to annoy him with silly things. Like Paganini. The Irish man _hated _Paganini.

Sebastian never truly understood why. Obediently, he drove into a familiar Vivaldi piece.

This diffused the tension. Reciting the notes in his mind, the blonde man found himself blinking as he realized that he skipped a note. Just _one. _He continued to play, deciding it as insignificant but of course it was noticed.

"_Heeeeeeard_ that." Jim teased.

Sebastian stopped midway through a bar and stretched his neck. He had been entertaining Jim for an hour now. It had been an hour of watching him scribble algebraic equations, swallow down a ridiculous amount of KitKats and drabble on about electrons.

It was normal for the bloke's _time of the month_ when cases were "dull". However it was _agony_ for Sebastian's raw hangover.

"Have you heard back from Molly yet?" Jim asked as he lifted his head from the arm of the sofa, "I _lost _my phone."

The phone was in the top drawer where the _Celebrations _tin was. Or rather where everything was. Despite its cleanliness it was physically impossible to find anything in this flat. It was always in a bloody drawer.

"Yeah," the man nodded before arching an eyebrow,"They... got assassinated you know."

"Assassinated?" Instantly Jim was sitting up, "_Oh_, really?"

Sebastian recalled emailing the man about Hooper this morning. But considering he had lost his phone, it was safe to presume that he'd "lost" his laptop as well. Standing up to begin rifling through the drawers nearest to him, Sebastian began the story.

"They finished the job." he began.

Jim grinned, "Good."

_Oh it gets better_, "But when they finished. Some gunman started shooting at them." Sebastian exhaled, glancing back, "shot Newall. Hooper dragged them both out..."

* * *

><p><em>She didn't want to do it. It broke her to do it. But the man was going to shoot them both. In fact he already had. Taking out Charlie's pistol which she had kept in her pocket, Molly impulsively shot into the darkness. Crack. Her ears hummed as she stumbled down the steps with Charlie hobbling beside her. He was mumbling now. Barely conscious. "I shot him C-Charlie..." she murmured to him, "god…I didn't want to-" They reached the bottom. The man was on the floor.<em>

_Molly looked at him. It was dark and she couldn't make out much of his face. Her stomach wrenched. "G-Go," Charlie breathed as she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. She stumbled over the body. Carelessly._

* * *

><p>"Gunman?" Jim asked, mumbling at his empty teapot, "<em>oh<em>, that was naughty. They didn't tell us they had a gunman."

Sebastian expressed a scoff. "Probably why they couldn't do it themselves," he shrugged, "It was all set up. Hooper shot the thick idiot, though." _what sort of gunman crosses the street like that?_

The Irish man grew thoughtful. "Shot?" He questioned, "_Fascinating. _Carry on."

* * *

><p><em>They reached the street. Their car was gone. Molly glanced around, panicking in the darkness. Charlie was still mumbling. He was losing colour. Pulling him, she realized how far away they were from the main road. No-one was going to find them here. It was too quiet. Where were they? It was hard to tell. Growing lightheaded from anxiety, her eyes fell on a lamppost at the corner of their street. <em>

_'You counted.' her mind told her._

* * *

><p>"—their car was stolen by the bastards," Sebastian continued as he rummaged through the various sweet wrappers in the drawer to locate Jim's phone, "so Hooper decided to get them to the main road to get help. <em>Guess <em>how she knew. She remembered the bloody lampposts at the corner of every street on their drive there so she knew exactly how to get back."

Jim sipped his newly-boiled tea, "There's method in the madness Moran." He retorted with a smooth smile.

* * *

><p><em>It was lamppost number three. It was very cold. Charlie was quiet. He was shivering. Frail, Molly clumsily crossed the road. Instantly she screamed as a spot of light centred on them. There was a shrill screeching of tyres.<em>

_For a few seconds, she thought she'd died. But the light faded and Charlie murmured her name._

* * *

><p>"Oh, this is electrifying."<p>

"The story?"

"No, the tea - Of _course_ the story." Jim rolled his eyes before smiling, "Alright. I'll stop interrupting. Go on."

* * *

><p><em>Her vision was blurry from the light. The car glided towards them. It was a window of holy opportunity. She stumbled towards it. Somehow she managed to restrain her hysteria as the passenger window was wheeled down and out came a flush of utter garble. "I'm sorry," she cried loudly, "I don't speak any Italian."<em>

_The driver was a man. "Please," she murmured, eyes finding his face, "You've…got to help my friend…he's been hurt…" Her voice was cracking as she gestured towards Charlie desperately._

_"Please…" she begged, "we… need a hospital. Do you understand?"_

_'Ospedale?' The man repeated._

* * *

><p>Sebastian paused as Jim began to laugh.<p>

"I see another happy-ending in the horizon." He drawled.

"That not a good thing boss?"

There was silence as the dark-eyed man sipped his tea. He glanced up, meeting the eyes of his sniper's and expressed a wily smile. "On the contrary," he hummed, "I'm _relieved_."

* * *

><p><em>"That yes." Molly nodded, feeling a faint glimmer of hope grow inside of her as the man suddenly stepped out of his car. He wandered over to her. He gasped and swore at the sight of them but helped her and Charlie into the vehicle.<em>

_Charlie was unconscious when they got inside. Molly held his hand throughout to check his pulse. __It wasn't until the driver told her that they were at the hospital that she finally released him._

_Alone, she started to cry._

* * *

><p>"Called me at half eleven in the evening." Sebastian recalled, drumming long fingers over his violin's wooden body.<p>

Jim tilted his head, "So, that's early for you."

"Yeah, but I was _pissed_."

Sebastian had been sure she was talking pot when she called him. He hadn't even recognized her voice. It wasn't until she started screaming down the phone that the panic slithered in.

* * *

><p><em>"You... You're drunk aren't you!" Molly had been confused as to why he was breathing so loud. And why he couldn't recognize her voice. And why he was swearing so little. She held the phone tight to her ears as she sat alone in the hospital waiting room, freezing. Sebastian had been the very first name she thought of when she found herself alone. Smoothing down her stained sleeves, she listened, shivering.<em>

_"Hooper," he grunted, sounding significantly more sober, "what?"_

_"It's Charlie," she murmured, breathless- "we were a-attacked... and he's really hurt... and we're in the hospital."_

_There was silence. And then - __"What?"_

_Molly closed her eyes. "__H-Help me," she breathed, "I don't k-know what to do."_

_"Shit. Calm down. Hold on." She could hear him shuffling, "Right. Tell me what happened from the beginning... which hospital are you in? Don't tell them anything. Actually. Fuck. Get out of there. Just get out...I'll call you-"_

_"Don't! Please don't hang up on me."_

_There was a deep sigh. "Alright. I'll need to find another phone. Hang on a minute..."_

* * *

><p>"I got her out. Luckily I pulled a favour from a bloke from Aosta. Even if it was that late in the evening," Sebastian nodded, leaning back and brushing his hands together, "Newall's been in intensive care overnight. Unconscious. <em>Alive<em> though." _the lucky bastard._

A small wordless interjection was exchanged as both men locked eyes. Sebastian noted the small gleam of delight that pranced around his employer's brown hues. This was Cinderella for the sick-minded. The clumsy girl whose shoe _finally _fitted. Despite disturbing his solo-drinking party and having him manically call up Italy so late, Sebastian would be lying if he said that he wasn't even an ounce impressed by Hooper.

"The girl who finally _grew some._" Sebastian drawled watching Jim smirk.

"That's my girl," the other man retorted, folding his arms, "where is she now?"

"Still there."

"Take her back to Dublin," Jim said simply, "Don't let her linger. She still has my Parker codes, remember?"

Sebastian nodded, plucking the violin strings quietly.

"Yes boss."

* * *

><p>Two days had passed<em>. <em>Brushing down his sleeves, tired eyes swivelled towards the doorway.

He had asked for Molly to be dropped off at his flat first. It only seemed appropriate considering she still had something of his. Entering his living room, he walked slowly – emphasizing every footstep. She was seated on one of the couches and had her back to him. He watched as each step he took caused her to flinch. Hypersensitivity. When he reached her, she barely registered his presence.

_"Come stai_?" He greeted gently, hands in pockets as he perched on the couch across. She looked dreadful; her skin was as pale as milk. Dry. Her eyes were dazed and dull. "I think you have something to give to me." Smoothly, he offered a hand and opened a palm.

She seemed hesitant at first - discomfited by the intensity of his stare. However eventually she mastered the courage. She slowly leaned forwards and handed him the CD in the clear wallet. But as she did so, her eyes widened as his hand grabbed hers in one quick movement. Harshly, he tugged at her wrist. She opened her lips to gasp but by then he had already released her - the surface of her skin still tingling at his touch.

His eyes were shining. "Sorry but you were _shaking _far too much, darling." He stated slickly, brow arched, "Your pulse is irregular. Are you alright?"

There was virtually no concern in his tone. Curiosity perhaps. She swallowed and then faintly nodded her head. His eyes dwelled on hers for a few moments before he whipped up a smile and passed a nod to Sebastian who stood patiently by the door. "You can go then," he ordered, noting her movements as she stood up and began to saunter away, "—_Ciao_. And thank you for the codes." He added as his eyes flicked down at the CD.

* * *

><p>After dismissing Sebastian with a wave of the hand, Jim hummed as he strolled around the room alone.<p>

He paused and then glanced at the disc in his hand. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he slapped the silver object on his palm. The smile remained as he _broke_ the CD in half and tossed the fragments frigidly into the bin. He then collapsed onto a couch.

If anyone had bothered listening to that disc, they would have found themselves treated to an affectionately-played _Handel _concerto.

It had been a cloud of idiocy. From the targets. To the useless, doe-eyed gunman. Even Sebastian seemed to have believed it. At the end of the day, every cloud of idiocy had a purpose. His had been her. It had been an experiment - well worth the effort. And the blood. The most satisfying cure for boredom he had ever had.

Heaving a breath, the man blinked as he spotted something crumpled on the sofa across him. Fabric.

And then his eyes drew towards the doorway where a figure stood, trembling.

"Oh," He retorted blithely, "Have you come for your coat?"

His words dangled in silence as Molly took a breath and uttered a simple,

"_Bastard._"

* * *

><p>She had seen him. She had watched the CD crack in his hands. The <em>purpose <em>for this whole ordeal. The thing she had placed faith in as she had been involuntarily dragged back to Dublin. Ruined. _'At least I did it,_' she had moaned to herself as she thought about Charlie haemorrhaging in hospital.

Now it was just shattered silver in the bin.

"You planned it all along -" Molly breathed before her eyes widened, "well of course you did –"

"Of _course_ I did." Jim agreed.

"I even listened to that CD. It was all music," Molly's face was white, "No codes."

"Music can be code." He purred back.

"_But_ it all makes sense… all from the beginning! Oh god…." The fury reached a crescendo as her hands flew to her head. _It was all there_.

His eyes watched her narration of movements. The look of vehemence on her face. It reminded him of the time she almost strangled him. His neck tingled vivaciously at the concept. "I did give you one shamelessly _huge _clue," He stated flatly, tilting his head, "But did you…listen?"

"It was the gunman." Molly stated.

"Hm."

_He was shouting something. At first it was Italian but then – _"He shouted my name," she murmured. At the time, she had been in so much shock that everything faded past. But that was why she had ended up confused. _Because he'd shouted at me. Something familiar._

"Oh good, so he did do it. Got me worried there." Jim shrugged his shoulders, "He actually said a few things. But yes, he was meant to recognize you. I don't _blame _you for not realizing though. I'm sure _Molly – smile for me, love and hugs Jim _– sounds entirely different in Italian." His smile faded as she began to shake her head, glossy eyes narrowed tightly.

"You're… this is _crazy_," Her lips parted, "You… _don't _– this is crazy."

"What is?" Jim asked.

"You. _Hired. _A. Gunman. To. _Shoot _Me." Molly spelt out, rage returning as she groaned in frustration.

"I specified _minor injuries_," the man chimed, "Dear Newall - _bless his soul -_ was unlucky."

"Unlucky? He's in intensive care!"

"Alive." Jim said pointedly, "Don't forget _alive. _Thanks to you, actually. Thanks to your valiant effort… we still have a _bomb maker_ – or engineer. Whatever we call him nowadays."

They stood watching each other for a few more seconds before Molly stepped back. She felt her heart rate quicken as his eyes twinkled against the light streaming from the windows. "You are _sick_ Jim." She managed.

His head tilted.

"Oh come now," he hummed, "Is that any way to speak to your boss?"

Her heart was pounding hard. She wanted to shake him. She wanted to make him say something that made _sense. _She wanted him to be serious. But her eyes caught a glimpse of the concealed malice that lay beneath the brown orbs of his eyes. It was watching her. Beneath the audacity, it stayed waiting.

Trembling, Molly turned.

"You're going to forget your coat again, love!" Jim crooned pleasantly from behind her.

She clamped a hand over her mouth as she walked away.

* * *

><p>Sebastian watched as she entered the front door. She ambled down the corridor, discarding his presence entirely. To be honest, he should be <em>whooping <em>with joy as Hooper's-small-talk was about as interesting as a gnat – however she had definitely been in conversation with the boss and he was curious.

It was a well-known fact that snipers were turned on by gossip almost as much as guns.

Stirring a cup of tea, he strolled down the corridor and reached her room. He knocked on the door and opened it, discounting any sort of rejection as it was _his _house after all. Upon entering, she looked up at him, face an absolute mess. It was probably cruel; but she looked like a sad clown.

"What happened?" He asked.

"He _planned _it all along." Molly replied.

For a second, the sniper was left blinking. But after a few moments of recollection – the strings began to link hands. "Well of course he did," he found himself muttering, instantly livid at the thought of Jim laughing his arse off because even _Sebastian believed it. _They needed a bloody word. But first, he needed to sort out Hooper who looked ready to end it there and then. The concept of a screwed-up employee was common. But if Hooper lost her marbles, then this would be a record. Most recruits stuck it to six months before the job fucked them up for eternity.

"Are you angry?" He asked.

"_Furious_," she replied, hazel eyes grave.

"Well, best get used to that feeling." Sebastian responded simply, "_Welcome to the House of Moriarty _where the job description involves high-blood pressure, big egos, expensive clothes and fucked-up bosses." This managed to steal a smile off her face, "You can't always get angry with him. This job will drive you _insane _quicker."

"How do…do you do it?" she managed, "Keep sane?"

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders.

"Cigarettes. Shagging. And…tea." He reached out and offered her his cup. She blinked and took it with a gracious nod of the head. He could see the "sentimental Hooper" rearing its ugly head and decided that it was time for him to sod off.

For now, he had a Paganini piece to conquer and a mass murder to confirm.

* * *

><p>Molly hadn't slept in a few days.<p>

Every time she tried, she was jolted awake by a memory. She would wake up, bathed in cold sweat and clinging to the poor fool who had been condemned to sit next to her. She rested on the pillow as she lifted a hand and watched it tremble. She hadn't recovered yet. Fully. The adrenaline from Turin still clung to her. And after Jim, the road to recovery seemed even longer.

She was exhausted. But she couldn't sleep. She half-expected Jim to text her. But her inbox remained empty. She wasn't sure if she should be overjoyed or annoyed. Molly was too tired to decide. She sighed and rolled onto her back.

The night was quiet.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I am such a troll. I'm sorry for taking so long to update! But my laptop dying amongst the landslide of work I was under has made my muse wilt. I'm sorry. Next time I do such a troll-like thing, I'll make sure to give you all bats to hit me with. Anyway, I **hate **cliff-hangers. I think they are very troll-y/cliche/BLAH. I just hate them. But I am going to be using them a lot [XD] because a lot of insane/generallytraumatic events will happen to Molly that _require _troll-like cliffhangers. So sorry. Again. Oh, and thanks for the lovely responses! I read the first lot of them and had my BlackBerry confiscated as I burst into spontaneous laughter in a lecture. So, thank you all for reading, and sticking with me!

I hate this chapter, end of. I'm still unhappy with it but I knew I'd be even _more _unhappy if I keep it off. Hopefully, the next chapter will be better. Sorry. The next chapter WILL be here quickly. Promise. Once I get used to this damn temporary laptop I despise already.


	20. Section II: Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

><p>Three days passed and Molly found that her condition gradually improved. She had officially attained a full-night of sleep. No muffled terrors. However, she found herself still unable to hold a spoon without dropping it. The quivers that gripped her muscles had stayed and it still made simple tasks relatively difficult. There was nothing that Molly could do to help.<p>

It was pitiable.

Taking a sip of her tea, Molly lowered the cup as Sebastian entered the kitchen. He gave her a salutatory nod and then shoved a small labelled package into her arms. "The boss needs to have this," he stated simply, "—I'm off somewhere for the morning." Molly blinked at the box before lifting her eyes to meet his gaze.

"Sebastian," she murmured, "I don't –"

"No." The blond man held up a finger to hush her, "None of that this morning, Hooper; I'm pissed off enough as is. I strongly suggest not bothering to argue with me unless you _really _want to… _Christ_, where is the tea? Why the hell did you move the tea?"

"I didn't." Molly pushed the box towards him anxiously, "it's right here."

There came another deluge of swear-words.

He glanced at her before scowling vigorously. Molly wasn't sure why Sebastian was in such a foul mood but her mood wasn't exactly uplifted by this task either. She had no desire to see Jim. None whatsoever.

"Well?" Sebastian posed, cocking his head towards the door, "-go on, then."

She expressed a loud sigh.

* * *

><p>Molly remembered Jim's flat enough.<p>

When she entered, the living room was even more ominous in the silence. She tiptoed in, heart hammering as she half-expected him to spring up from behind a plant and send her screaming. He didn't. Fortunately. Once she got inside, she left the package by the nearest table and with folded arms, made a beeline for the door. By this point, her breaths were heavy and serrated. It resonated from relief. She _was _going to leave. She was escaping.

And she almost did.

But then – "_Oh,_ you're leaving already?" Jim's voice stated flatly from behind her, "I would have thought it was customary to say hello to people when you enter their flat without their consent." The words hit the silence hard and Molly was instantly frozen at the doorway. She shut her eyes for a second before she turned to face him.

He was further away than she thought. With one look, she reasoned that he must have just come out of the shower. The largest clue being the fact that his hair was dishevelled and wet. Two and two. "I suppose I wouldn't have heard you knocking anyway," he continued, "_but _that doesn't mean that I wouldn't have wanted the option."

"Sorry," Molly managed, eyes on her feet, "but I'm done… so I'll just go."

She turned again.

"_Waaaaaaaaait_," Jim interrupted, causing her to stop -"You're not done yet...well, _I'm _not done with you."

Molly grew cold. She felt a lump form in her throat as she pivoted and gazed at him. A smile then stretched merrily across his face. He glanced down before nodding his head, "You're _going _to like it," he said, "so get away from that door and come closer." Jim's chin tipped downwards to gesture across him, "Come on, love. _Closer_." When she didn't move, his voice did that god-awful thing of growing childishly high-pitched, "—_Clooooooser. _Now."

When she moved, Molly decided that it must have been down to instinct. If he was going to do something terrible, she might as well have it done quickly. Guardedly, she moved away from the door and shuffled to where she would be level with him. His eyes gleamed when they met hers. "Closer," he urged again; he was by the couches – Molly was about twenty or so steps away. She took three. "_Few more_," Jim nodded. Molly obliged.

This cycle continued until twenty steps were shortened to five.

By now, they were so close it was virtually impossible to avoid his eyes. She was pallid as he breathed an airy – "_Closer_."

The hesitation returned. Molly watched him, entirely unapprised by what he had for her. Why did she have to come so close? Something in her legs kicked in as she took two more steps forward and found herself in the region of couches. She was uncomfortably close - she could even read the label on his towel. Confused, her eyes instinctively diverted towards a couch.

And that was when she realized why.

On the couch was a large ginger cat. It had stripes of different shades and had its long lean body stretched across the sofa. Molly watched as it opened its mouth and mewled gently, wholly oblivious to the tension that sprained the room.

"It's not mine," Jim mused – reading the perplexed expression on her face, "It _is_ someone's though. Can you... guess whose?"

"_Mine_?" Molly wheezed.

"Well…of course," Jim blinked innocently, "I was convinced that _you being here_ would give that away."

She sighed at him. When her eyes returned to the cat, she realized how she wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Her thoughts were somewhat hazy as she mumbled, "I don't understand," she pulled her gaze away from the animal, "is it… going to explode or something?"

Jim's eyes widened. "_What_?" he gawped, "No. Molly. That's… disgusting. Why would you suggest that?" He shook his head as he stepped away from her. Tousling his hair, he met her eyes.

"I like to _pay _my employees _extras_ - call them bonuses." he began, "Especially the ones I work with most closely. For example, Newall and his laboratory that I fund and hire. Adelaide and her brother…" Jim met her eyes, "Sebastian… well, he's evidently my favourite so I give him lots of things. Guns…for obvious reasons. _Women _too… man…one time," He chuckled, "although he hadn't been pleased with them – so I suppose he must have enjoyed the grand piano a lot more."

Reading him, Molly found herself a little breathless as his attention turned to her again.

"You… you aren't too complicated to shop for," Jim hummed with a large Cheshire grin, "I know how much you like cats. In fact, _when we were dating_ – I almost thought you liked cats more than people. Slightly disconcerting. But you did mention ginger cats one time. Possibly. Not sure. Was it you? I don't remember – "

"I did."

"Oh. Good," the Irish man nodded before gesturing towards the cat cheerily with his arms, "Then… _tadaaaa."_ He tilted his head at the gaping 'o' shape her mouth had made, "Don't you like it Molly?" There was an ounce of disappointment in that tone. Amusement too.

A silence fell as she felt unable to answer him. She just stared at the cat. Jim. Jim's hair. Cat. What was it for? It baffled her.

He genuinely seemed to be pondering the subject. Molly took a plucky breath and shook her head. "It's not… it's not that," she muttered unconvincingly as he looked up at her.

"Then _what_?" His face was inquiring for a few moments before a toothy smile adorned his chapped lips, "—maybe… maybe you'll like it better after something to eat! _Say_, you'll stay. Come on…"

_No. _That word was underlined in Molly's head. Bold. Italicised. She had to decline. It was _not _the time to be doing this. But as she stared at the cat, the lump that had formed and grown in her throat cracked.

"Okay," she found herself murmuring, "I'll stay."

_It won't be long_, she shamelessly assured herself, _we'll leave the moment we can._

* * *

><p>The moment didn't come.<p>

Molly felt forced to stay. It was almost like Jim was purposely barricading every chance of departure with his babbles and capers. Babbles about _useless _things like _toast._ Breakfast was _meant_ to be toast. But then it had turned out that Jim didn't own a toaster. As expected, there was virtually no food in the flat. In the end, they settled down on the couches with a teapot and Jim's beloved biscuit tin. Molly hadn't felt hungry so opted to sit and stare at him as he sipped his drink.

Eventually the disruption of Jim's "gift" thinned and Molly's thoughts returned to the important things again.

"Did I kill him?" she asked hastily, "The… the gunman."

Jim glanced up. His expression was pointed as he lowered his teacup.

"No," he responded, "_Kill_? No."

"Oh." Molly murmured, smoothing the hem of her sleeve, "that's -"

She opted not to finish it. Naturally, it caught his attention.

"That's...what?" Jim finished, eyebrow shot.

"Nothing." Molly dismissed, sensing the concealed simper beneath his tone.

A cold smile stained his lips. "_Good_?" Jim blinked, "Bad? _Medium_? What. Molly. _What_? Tell me. _Tell. _Me."

Each syllable he uttered forced Molly's words further and further into the back her throat until she could barely speak at all.

"_N-N-Nothing_. I told you Jim," a cold shiver trickled down her spine, "I wasn't going to say anything."

"Oh?" Jim's eyes were grave as he chanted flatly, "-I think someone's _pants are on fiiiiiire_!"

His eyes were glowing.

"If you want to _ask _or _say _something," Jim interposed, expression still, "-just _say_."

Molly said nothing.

She then watched the bemused expression on his face fall away. She had watched this transition before – many times even. There was always something that made the bluster in his tone fade. His eyes observed her warily as he spoke. "You're still _hooked _onto this gunman business... still confused... confused Molly... _you just don't see it do you, love_?"He quipped, voice uncharacteristically low, "People weren't born killers; they're made. I'm _making _you into an employee of mine. Think of that as my sort of training. You should be _pleased_ that the job was false. Imagine if it hadn't been. I could have sent you on any little task I wanted. And trust me, I have a lot of very dangerous _odd jobs _that needs doing," His jaw clamped, "Molly, it's time to stop questioning what I do to you. _Just_ always remember that I always _know _what I do. There's always _something _that I do it for and -"

His monologue ended with,

"It's all for the business, baby."

She was quiet, staring at him – somewhat overwhelmed and sickened at the same time. Jim's passive façade disappeared almost as quickly as it had come and he was instantly on his feet. He gulped down the last drops of the tea and passed her an excitable smile.

"Want to see my new toy?" He asked, brown eyes gleaming, "It's _just_ gorgeous."

* * *

><p>His toy had been a gramophone. An old-fashioned music player that Molly must have only seen in old-fashioned American musicals.<p>

"I made one when I was a kid," Jim told her as he crossed his arms over his chest and admired the old, Victorian-looking equipment, "—I built a small motor. Rolled up newspaper cone as an amplifier. Stuck a needle at the end..."

There was something about the image that almost made Molly want to smile. She could imagine a little boy plugging bits of wire into a box and shrieking delightfully at success. Whether that boy was Jim, she wasn't sure. She watched him, unable to detect any form of insincerity in the way he spoke about it. His eyes looked faraway – unbelievably nostalgic. Molly instinctively felt out of place as she stood there, unable to see the magnificence that an old-run-down gramophone could possibly hold.

"Did you get tired of your CD player?" Molly asked, dryly.

"Oh, never liked that. _Vinyl_, Molly. Vinyl is king." Jim said, adding a 'tut', "Analogue sound is the best way to listen to music. I don't understand why _normal _people settle for so little."

Jim stepped towards the gramophone which was perched by the high windowsill and began to flick switches. Molly swallowed - a little faint as she stood there alone.

The moment the music started, her eyes turned to him. Across, Jim stood, brushing his hands victoriously as he whipped around to face her. Molly was instantly transported to that night _all _those weeks ago. He was giving her exactly the same expression. She knew what was coming.

_'I really can't stay.'_

He offered a hand. "Dance with me." The proposal was unmistakably _Jim_ – blunt with just a hint of aggression.

'_But baby its cold outside.'_

Molly shook her head palely in reply as she stepped back.

_'—so very nice.'_

"Why not?" He tilted his head, "we've done it before."

"I know."

Molly was like marble.

"It's still _Dean Martin_," Jim cooed, "our... favourite._" _He whispered the last line like it was a mutual secret.

_'I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice.'_

"Please." A whimper came with Molly's plea as Jim closed the distance between them, ingenuous smile on his face. He looked down at her, making her feel instantly small as he offered the hand again.

"I don't think it was a question." He retorted.

_'My mother will start to worry'_

Molly's stomach flipped, knowing she had no choice.

"Why do you want to... dance so much?"she breathed, eyes focused away.

_'Beautiful, what's your hurry?'_

Jim shrugged his shoulders as he seized her hand and pulled her to him. Again, it was a repeat of that night with Marlow. The only difference was that he appeared a lot gentler this time – and he didn't smell of wine. He smelled like his shampoo which was unmistakably minty. Molly felt dizzy as Jim swayed them around, her feet moving without her physical control. They were under _his _control. Her movements were limp and graceless; he supported them.

She felt small with him. Barely there at all.

Her breaths gradually grew loud and as she tried to relax, it only worsened. It was only when Jim spoke that her senses calmed. "I like to dance," she heard him murmur, "because it helps me concentrate." Molly couldn't deny how genuine that sounded and found herself nodding. "I don't dance often," Jim continued, "mainly because there's nobody to dance with… but now you see... _it's different_... I have you. You can dance with me, Molly."

A short silence followed as his words hinged in the air.

"You can dance with me." He repeated.

It was barely audible. But Molly heard it. She felt his grip on her hand loosen somewhat as she then listened closely to his breathing. He had sounded gentle there - _ gentle_? "What does that mean?" she asked him.

Jim didn't answer.

It was quiet for a little while.

* * *

><p><em>'I ought to say, no-no sir.'<em>

The song reminded her of winter. Molly wasn't sure what it was that was so horribly evocative about the tune. She had probably seen it in _Glee _somewhere. She couldn't remember now. But it was nice. Contained in Jim's arms, Molly found her body graciously responding to the human warmth. A disturbingly cold sensation had lingered around her since Charlie was pulled away from her that night. This was _comforting _in a way.

Especially when Jim said nothing.

But he broke the silence eventually.

"You know," he murmured, leaning closer to her - "There's something I _do _have to mention to you Molly. Another thing. Pressure points. Heard of 'em? Triggers_. Everyone_ has a pressure point. You. _Youuuu_... have far too many for my liking…" His tone was decreasing in volume. Molly found that unfamiliar sense of threat return to her. Pressure points? She was _too __weak_, he was saying. Vulnerable.

_Pathetic._

"-There's… well, generally people_. _Your family. Your _friends_," a sense of delicious irony was pressed in that word as he continued, "and most significantly – yourself. You are your greatest trigger."

Her eyes grew watery as she tried to push his voice from her head. But his words echoed - loud and clear over the music. "-Molly, you _need _to learn how to lose each weakness… one by one," he continued smoothly, "until you're completely and utterly _free_…"

_'I simply must go…the answer is no…'_

The music dissipated into an incomprehensible hum as he breathed his final sentence into her ear:

"That is how you get away with _murder.._."

It scared her. _He _scared her. Molly said nothing for a good four minutes. She continued to be pulled, listening only to the rush of blood through her ears. Eventually, she found herself asking -

"So… what are your pressure points?"

Jim chuckled, warm breath on the crown of her head.

"I don't have any." He answered.

"I thought _everyone _has a pressure point."

He smiled.

"Yes, but I'm not everyone."

* * *

><p>The song was ending. Molly - by now - was barely mindful of the music around. She was flushed in the face as the record stopped with a hazy scratch. Jim stopped with it. When he stepped back, she almost stumbled backwards as her feet were returned her. Glancing upwards, Jim was grinning.<p>

"Dancing is therapy." He articulated simply.

"Pardon?" Molly blinked as she watched him retrieve her hand and hold it up in front of her.

It had stopped shaking.

Her eyes were fixed on it for a moment, unsure if it was real. It was only when she realized that her new_ c_at was purring at her feet that her attention was taken away. "Oh, goodness," she crouched and glanced at the creature delicately.

"Affectionate, isn't she?" Jim hummed.

He turned away. Molly looked up and watched as he walked leisurely towards his windows. His figure was straight in posture - tall and dark. She swallowed absently as nothing was said for a while. The quiet was sombre - a clear contrast to the previous ominous tension. When Jim pivoted, his expression was twisted reflectively. She noted that he looked reflective often. Like a philosopher - _always asking questions._

"Is that all?" she asked, eventually killing the silence.

Jim's straight face remained before he nodded.

"That's all," he replied as he pursed his lips, "Unless there is anything else _you _want."

His tone could be taken as accusatory. Molly shook her head in reply. "I think that's all," she mumbled, "just... don't forget your package." She gestured towards the untouched box on the sofa.

Jim's eyes followed her gesture and a grimace flitted across his lips.

"Of course." He responded.

Molly took the cat, quite uncomfortable as it stretched in her arms. Her eyes then absorbed the rest of the room. It felt so dark now. Despite its impeccable beauty, the room was intimidating in the quiet. It was secluded.

_Lonely._

"Jim," she murmured, "I'm... going now."

He looked up from the floor and after a short pause, he nodded.

"Fine," Jim mumbled as he brushed a finger against his lower lip, "_Ta__, _then."

Meeting his eyes, she nodded gently. With an awkward clear of the throat, Molly found herself uttering -

"Uh... _ta_, to...you too."

The expression was so alien to her that it was just embarrassing. It reminded her of the time her niece had tried to educate her on _youth slang_. The way that teenagers skipped 't's when they said _water. _The annoying habit of _chavs _and their _bruvs _(which apparently meant the same as 'mate' or 'brother').

It always sounded wrong when Molly said it.

Face accommodating a light rose tinge, she glanced up at Jim one more time.

He was smiling.

It was the last thing she saw when she stepped out.

* * *

><p>As Molly walked down the street, new cat in her arms – she couldn't help but sense a peculiar pattern forming in each of her and Jim's encounters. At the end of their meetings, she always felt <em>changed. <em>He always _changed. _Each encounter animated a slightly-different Jim Moriarty. And the aggravating thing was that she wasn't sure _which _one was Jim anymore.

He was sick, crazy and wild. But he danced like a gentleman. He was _temperamental _– and yet he gave her the impression that he was also_ lonely._

It was all confusing. Twisted. The complications of a character that was almost too _much_ to exist.

* * *

><p>"Hooper, can you kindly keep your damn cat off my leg."<p>

"Oh sorry," Molly lifted from his sofa and scooped the ginger cat by Sebastian's feet. The animal seemed to have become utterly fascinated by the hem of the sniper's trousers (much to his disdain). Glancing up at him, Molly managed a gentle smile, "Shakespeare's allowed to play around here." she noted – knowing that the dog and her cat hadn't gotten along particularly well yet.

The man scowled. "Just because he _does_," he explained, "doesn't mean he's allowed to."

Molly chuckled, tucking a lock of long hair behind her ear. She then shuffled towards the couch as the cat yelped and leapt from her arms. Sebastian was deep into memorizing a piano piece and hearing the cat _mewl_, he simply sighed out loud. Evidently, he was going to have _none _of this done.

"Have you named it yet then?" He asked dully, registering the cat with a flick of the head, "_That_."

"No," Molly answered, "Any suggestions?"

"I'm afraid my parents were uninteresting with names. I'm sure I'll be as bad." Sebastian nodded, knowing he hadn't even named his own dog despite being condemned with it.

Tilting his head back, he explained,

"My mother was an accomplished cellist. _Dad i_s a lecturer of English Literature. Naturally, her favorite collection was the Cello Suites by Bach. Unable to bear naming their son _Johann_, my parents went with paying homage to Bach by using his second name...my father's much loved field of literature was English romantic poetry. And so, my second name. _Byron. _After Lord George Byron. The aristocratic, incestuous, womanizing self-imposed _tosser _of the eighteenth century."

The man took a deep breath, instantly feeling a cigarette-urge. "I suppose I got better than my sister," he muttered.

"Oh?" Molly murmured, hiding a smile.

"_Antonia Bysshe_." He shared, restraining from a snort, "The lovechild of a variant form of Vivaldi and _Shelley._"

Somewhat calmly, Sebastian lifted from his chair and stretched. He then flexed his hands.

This was when Molly spotted the bandages. They were around his left hand, clumsily blanketed over his knuckles.

"Oh... god... what happened?" she asked, blinking.

"_Useless_, petty muggers." Sebastian answered, lips pursed sourly, "_Scum _of the street."

Molly's eyes widened, "You got mugged?"

A bemused silence took over as a confident smile broadened across Sebastian's face. It was the _o_nly _smile _he had. Molly was sure that it was the sort of smile that boxers had when they tried to patronize each other before a game.

"_Almost_."

Sebastian uttered, before glancing at his hand once more and leaving the room.

A warm glow infiltrated Molly's features as she turned her eyes away from the door and watched the ginger cat progress smoothly towards the piano. For a little while, her thoughts were at rest. She stood up and approached_ her_ cat slowly, heartbeat gentle.

"Shelley," she found herself murmuring as she enveloped the creature in her arms, "I like that."

The cat purred.

* * *

><p><em>Bedford, England. 15:20<em>

* * *

><p>"I assume that is her sister."<p>

He had no need to pose it as a question. The woman that stood, ushering a small girl into the family car was Emily Hooper. He could tell a multitude of things from where he sat, sheltered in his own vehicle. For one, she was a mother. Married – _ah. _His lips grimaced a little. _Unhappily married. _There was more. _Doctor. Smoker – secret smoker. Avid runner. Shortsighted– _

"Sir, do you _really _think this is necessary?"

"Offering one's condolences in tragic times," the man retorted airily, "—is _always _necessary."

The smile he received from the woman beside him was one he classified as bemused. "You know what I mean," Her eyes flickered from the screen of her phone, "You don't believe _she's _dead."

A soft silence ensued as the man smiled gently. He extended a hand in which the woman obediently handed him his umbrella. "My beliefs are irrelevant," He nodded, dismissing the matter, "We should introduce ourselves before we are left behind_._" The man opened the car door and stepped out. His eyes hovered over the woman. They were at Miss Hooper's family home; an organized vigil was being held for her at their local chapel. Although unsentimental, he felt the need to attend for it only seemed _respectful. _In addition, he required a word with Miss Hooper's family.

There were still things they needed to know about Molly.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

Health issues arose guys, I'm so sorry. I've struggled with finishing the chapter but I _have _finally. Now firstly, thanks so much for the lovely responses. I'm sorry for the restbite of writing; I hope you guys liked this. This is the end of section II [yay] - so section III next. More Mollyiarty. Finally. And some lovely minor characters to meet as well. Now, this chapter is dedicated to all of you for always being nice and patiently reading along - it's truly overwhelming - but also especially _She-Alexify_. As you can see, Seb - in an ideal world - would have taken care of all those horrible people that assaulted you!

Take care guys! We've got a bit to go yet; but thanks for reading as always. Oh, and the final part of the chapter is just an indication that not _everyone _has forgotten Molly. Someone cares! _Song credit goes to: Dean Martin - Baby It's Cold Outside. _


	21. Section III: Chapter 1

**A/N: Quite a lengthy one here because I ramble/wanted to make it up to you for waiting so long! Just a shout-out to FallinApart - (MY GOD THAT PIECE OF ART WAS RIDICULOUSLY GOOD. Thanks so much, I'm so flattered; it cheered up my days significantly. Thank you.) Um. Brief new character is introduced here; more of him in Chapter two.**

**Thanks for reading, as always.**

_credits; titanium - david guetta ft. sia_

* * *

><p>Section III:<p>

**Titanium**

_"i'm bulletproof nothing to lose, fire away, fire away _

_you shoot me down but i won't fall"_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

* * *

><p>An unfamiliar sense of quiet hung in the air as the first flecks of snow sprinkled over Dublin.<p>

The scene was exhilarating; to think, in a few hours' time, the pavement would fade behind a veil of white. The trees. The grass. It was all going to look different – _changed_. It only took one heavy period of snowfall – and suddenly, everything around appeared and felt _transformed. _Some people found the concept of everything smothered in snow to be utterly blad. To Molly, it was the entire opposite. For her, the snow provided the scene with an unsurpassable amount of purity. It looked like a blank canvas; nature being stripped bare. It was beautiful.

"It's Christmas in three days." Molly murmured as she pulled her gaze away from the window.

"Oh," Sebastian's eyes flicked up from the computer tablet in his hands, "thanks for reminding me."

"You're welcome," she countered back, disregarding the resentment. She sat up and motioned towards the window again, large hazel eyes honing onto a lamppost at the edge of the street. It stood there lit and proud – amber light providing for the December grey. "I don't think I've ever witnessed a white Christmas," Molly continued, "I'm sure it would be nice."

A sigh slipped through her lips. This one gentle gesture coaxed a memory to crawl out of her head. It was the animated picture of two young girls dressed in their school uniform making their way home.

_'Emmie, why won't it snow this Christmas?' _

_'Because it's England, Molls. There's no such thing as white Christmases… you only get them in other places…'_

_'Where?'_

_'I dunno… where Santa lives, of course. North Pole or summat like that.'_

The sound of Sebastian's shrilly ringtone unpicked her daydream.

She turned and watched as he sat up, face fixed wholly onto the mobile phone screen in front of him. A crease formed across his forehead – thoughtful and somewhat aggravated at the same time.

"Busy?" Molly smiled.

"Naturally," Sebastian expressed a breath, "Have you ever noticed that I am nearly always busy?" A smirk appeared broadly across his face as he stretched, refraining from yawning. He had a lot more work to get done. "Got anything to do in the afternoon, Hooper?" he then asked, looking at her.

"No, not really," she flexed her hands, "was there anything you needed doing?"

"Yes," Sebastian nodded, "I'm going somewhere for the afternoon. Meeting. Check on Jim, will you?"

Molly nodded, passing him a faint smile.

"Yeah, sure."

Thoughtfully, Sebastian bowed his head and expressed a deep breath. "It's just that the boss gets awfully _bored _around this time of year," a light smirk played on his lips as he caught Molly's eyes, "—not enough clients, work… dead bodies… that sort of stuff. I put the whole of December as a sort of _Code black._"

Code Black – _the highest code for an emergency._

Molly listened to him, eyes lowering a little as a thought stream entered her head. _Sounds like someone I know, _Her mind drawled gently as a flash of dark curls and a blue scarf swept over her eyes. She quickly shook the thought off, faint smile fading as her eyes turned back to the window.

_'Alright then, I'll go to that place and see a white Christmas!'_

_The taller of the girls grinned wickedly as she gave the younger a shove, "Don't be shhhtuuuupid Moll. You'll never get to that place!'_

_'Why not?' the other puckered._

_'Because you don't go to places like that,' she explained, voice soft, 'Places like that don't really exist and if they did, people like us can't go there!'_

"Hooper, can you buy some milk while you're out?"

Molly blinked. "You're going out too." She told him.

"Yeah," Sebastian shrugged, "—but isn't shopping…a _woman's _thing? Plus, I think it's your turn to do it. I've done it for two months, Hooper."

It would be fair to point out that his comment was as _wrong _as it was sexist - Molly had done the majority of shopping for them. But then, Sebastian was not sexist as far as she observed and he had barely slept a wink the past two days. Some slack had to be cut. "I will," she assured him, "is there anything else -?"

"No, I think that's it."

"Okay. Be careful… the snowfall's getting heavy."

Molly's attention swivelled back to the sight beyond the glass window. As she did, the final wisps of the memory reformed in her head.

_'What do you mean?' the girl demanded, 'why can't I go there?'_

_'Cause, Moleeeey,' her sister sighed, 'we're normal. Ordinary. Normal people don't go to places like that… normal people don't ever get anywhere.'_

Recalling her sister's words, a flimsy frown materialized across Molly's face.

* * *

><p>It had become ordinary for Molly to visit Jim's flat. A month had passed by since Turin. Since then, she had done a few more things for Jim that involved far less blood and more simple mechanisms of meeting people and forgetting them. Molly now owned a different identity, her hair was shorter - it was all different in a way.<p>

But she was still Molly Hooper. She still called up Charlie's grandmother in Kent every week pretending to be his roommate to ask about his recovery. She still tripped over things. She still annoyed Sebastian because she did things wrong. She still amused Adelaide to no end because she could not master an accent with all the practice in the world. She was still asnervous, anxious and clumsy as ever.

And as she walked down the road, flecks of snow fluttering around her, Molly knew that she was still herself because of how Jim made her. He still confused her. Aggravated her. _Mortified _her. But by this time, almost three months since her abduction – everything about him had transformed as well. He was still as unstable as she primarily remembered – _like an isotope, _he told her once. Still sadistic. Grim. However, there were other things about him that she had grasped - His love for academics; his sick -bordering on obsessive – adoration for work; his occasional _snap _into normality.

Yes. Jim Moriarty was normal sometimes. Of course, by 'normal' Molly meant 'normal' for him. He was still the same man – but the way he spoke changed and what he spoke about changed with it. The brief spells emerged when he was engaged in something that did not _involve _work. Science. Philosophy. Literature. Maths. _Music_. But more commonly, Molly sensed the biggest change in Jim when they talked about _her. _ He loved hearing about Molly's day – food – work - _just anything. _There was something about the monotony of her life that engaged him on occasion.

She was like a distraction.

* * *

><p>"Like it?"<p>

Jim's hand gestured towards the slick and particularly new-looking pale-grey suit, "It's not normally my colour; grey is so bland. But I thought why not," His mumbles fell a moment as he tilted his head at her, "You're looking so crestfallen today, Molly. Am I _such _bad company?"

"Of course not," She answered him, somewhat accustomed to his listless banter, "—where are you off to?"

It was odd. About a month ago, she wouldn't be asking him anything. She would be eyeing the door – praying for someone to hear her innate screaming and save her. Molly wasn't sure what had changed since that shift in time. It could be her mind finally becoming attuned to the life she was now living; alternatively, she could have simply lost all hope of ever escaping. It could even be both. As far as Molly knew, she still _cringed_ at Jim. She still found him eerie and still kept her guard. However, she wasn't scared of him anymore.

Not so much anyway.

"Meeting," he answered in his usual abrupt manner as a smirk flitted across his lips, "Guess where I got the suit from?"

Molly ran through the list in her mind. She couldn't quite think of many designer labels as she was not an avid shopper. This said, one name always seemed to crop up whenever she talked to Sebastian about clothes and Jim's ridiculously-expensive wardrobe. "Westwood?" she posed.

A brightness glazed Jim's eyes. "No, _shockingly_," He responded with a faint sigh, "It was Topman actually… parting from the shoes." He stuck out the shiny, black footwear for her inspection, "—these are _Versace. _They were having a sale." By then, his tone had thinned. Molly was still completely bemused as to why the man seemed so uncharacteristically attached to labelled clothes. It didn't seem right for someone who _worked _like him. He genuinely loved designer labels.

It was the extravagance of it all; the joy of showing off.

"So, what brings you to my abode?" Jim's tone had levelled to a more serious quantity now as he turned away from her and adjusted his tie, "—I don't believe I was expecting you." Of course Molly knew that he was aware of exactly why she was here. He always knew. Not that there was any degree of mystery to it considering she normally visited for the principle reason that Sebastian worried too much and did not possess enough hours in the day to watch him. Sebastian _trusted _her with Jim; there was always a sense of authenticity in the way that he asked for her to check on him. He did it often. Molly thought it was rather sweet that the sniper seemed perpetually on edge with his boss.

But she understood why he would be. Jim was a handful. "No reason," she lied.

"Hm… well. It's quite a _tricky _thing – lying. You should work on it. It becomes a very adaptable life skill once you master the art," Jim retorted in her direction, head tilted as he smoothed the front of his blazer, "I'm still pleased you came. I _do _like getting opinions on my clothes. It's very important to look good… I just hate it when people turn up and don't even make a_ damn _effort. I mean, _look_ –" He turned and signalled to his outfit with a brush of two hands, "—that's effort right there. _Sometimes, _I wonder why I even bother when I get locusts who turn up in denim…"

His brown eyes dwelled on her for a moment. Particularly on the denim trousers she wore. She blushed deeply.

"Oh," he began, "I didn't mean you."

"Thanks." Molly muttered, nipping the bottom of her lip.

"Hm," Jim grinned at her, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets, "you can come with me if you like. Since, _Baz_ – " This was a nickname that Sebastian absolutely _detested _whenever Jim brought it up, "—asked for you to babysit me. Bring a gun with you. I do have one but I'd much rather keep it for myself if you don't mind…"

"I have one." She assured him.

Jim turned to her at that point, eyes narrowed, smirk twitching just a little. "Oh, do you now?" Molly stiffened as he approached. She concentrated his clothes - suit neatly pressed and ironed – every little square of fabric delicately perfect. A lump formed in her throat as he inched ever closer. He walked until he was stood right by her, shoulder-to-shoulder. "Good girl," He breathed eventually, lips pressing together as he motioned towards the doorway.

* * *

><p>They were at a restaurant. It was empty. And Molly wasn't <em>at <em>the restaurant. No. She was positioned three floors above, watching two monitors focused on Jim as he sat fiddling with his mobile phone. She had no clue where she was. She had been separated from Jim at the car ride and estimated that they had travelled for a good hour and a quarter. The driver did not speak a word to her until he propelled her to her post and she finally had a good look at him.

He was short. Well, significantly shorter than Sebastian. He had scruffy blonde hair that flimsily drooped over his forehead. He was probably in his mid-thirties, bearded and stood with a posture that probably didn't do wonders for his height. "Ah, they did tell me you like to stare," he mused at her, accent most definitely from _Manchester_, "Stay here and watch the monitors. I don't really know what else you could do… put this in your ear," The man handed her a Bluetooth earpiece as his eyes watched the screens cautiously, "—best get a move on… shouldn't have too much trouble… you have a gun right?"

Molly nodded. The nameless man smiled.

"Good," he continued, "See you."

He exited through the doorway and left Molly by herself.

Her eyes turned towards the screen. Jim was not alone anymore. A figure had joined his table at the restaurant. It was a man. They were talking and looking somewhat tense as they shook hands in greeting.

"_Can you hear me?" _A voice told her over the ear piece.

Molly was so surprised that she found herself twitching in response. "Uh… uh yes," she managed, "I can hear you."

_"Good,_" The Mancunian accent was unbelievably smooth over the connection, "_Just keep an eye in case I need to –"_

The sentence never finished. Molly didn't notice. Her eyes were transfixed on the monitor where the calm atmosphere seemed to have dissipated for the worst. The other man was over the table, a hand grasped tightly around Jim's throat. A spike of panic fell into Molly as she found herself slapping a hand over the ear piece, "H…Hello?" she called out, hand thrusting towards the monitor, "Are you seeing this – w—what do I do? What…" Jim was being battered. In a haze of fists and punches, the man had pushed Jim onto the table and was hammering him. The stranger was shouting something; Jim said nothing. He barely moved. In fact, the Irish man posed no defence. It was bewildering.

Each swing towards Jim made Molly's eye twitch. _Need to do something. _His body fell to the floor. The stranger lifted himself up and walked away disappearing from Molly's monitor.

She sat, dumbfounded. Eventually after a few seconds, Jim straightened up into a sitting position. He brushed his sleeves off in a painfully casual manner and exercised his neck.

_"Shit,_" said her earpiece, "_The bastard didn't let me shoot."_

* * *

><p>He was bruised.<p>

The next time she saw him, they were in front of the flat. His face had crusts of dried blood. Stains. The effort he had invested in his outfit was completely wasted; his sleeves and tie had marks. Molly watched him as he opened the door of the flat. His eyes turned towards her as he pushed it open. A smile spread across his cut lip. "Do you get white Christmases in Bedford?" He asked, gesturing towards the gently-falling snow beyond them, "—it's quite nice."

Jim sniffed a little. Molly shook her head, "No, we don't get snow much," she shared as she stepped into the flat with him.

The next few moments were spent in silence. Jim strolled around the living room, shedding off his blazer and eyeing his reflection in the mirror hung over his fireplace. He caressed the side of his neck as he tilted his head, one hand stroking the slightly bashed left cheek. "I told him not to touch the nose," he muttered, wrinkling the feature, "But the Greeks. What can you do? They just _can't _control themselves. Why else would they be stuck in economic _hell_? But who am I to critique; I am Irish…" The man chuckled gently, humouring himself as the smile died and a grimace appeared.

"Who was he?" Molly asked, absently stepping towards him, "and… why did he beat you up?"

Another solemn chuckle slipped through Jim's lips. "A rather bad-tempered client," he answered, "I was expecting a scuffle… that's why I wore my _Topman._"

"You don't meet clients." Molly murmured, echoing something Sebastian had told her.

"No," he responded, "not normally. But I needed something from him. He was a rather difficult person for soliciting; and returning to your previous question… he beat me up because I _informed _him that his sister gave me a rather good time when I visited her in Amsterdam last September." Jim pivoted and faced her, eyes flickering, "I believe he took it as a _double entendre. _She really did give me a good time. But most definitely _not _in that way." He began to disentangle his blemished tie as he continued, "—well. If it had been that way, then _good _would not be a very accurate word to describe it."

Jim expressed another chuckle. Molly managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. She could only imagine what she'd end up telling Sebastian: _'No, Jim didn't do much. Just got beaten up by a very scary Greek man because he said that he did the man's sister.'_

"Do you want me to help you clean up?" Molly asked, meeting his eyes.

"What?" Jim inquired, "The flat?"

"No, you." A lump formed in her throat, "You're in a bad way, Jim."

An expression took over his face. It was difficult to tell with the blood and bruises; she labelled it as bemused. "It's nothing," he dismissed, "Barely a scratch…" He stopped and allowed his tone to trail as he narrowed his gaze at her. "_Oh, Molly,_" Jim murmured, tone light, "Is that_ concern _I detect?"

The word made Molly's gaze fall. "Of course not," she mumbled. _It's not._

"Good."

She looked back up. "Why didn't you get someone to shoot him?"

It was a good enough question to distract her from the 'concern' comment. Jim considered it as he glanced down at his shirt - spotted and marked as the rest of his wardrobe. "There was no need, he was only angry," Jim soothed, lips pursing, "I don't really like _shooting _when I'm around. It's dirty. Dirty…dirty… and I don't like cleaning it up. You know? I could have dealt with him. Left with my Topman. But that would have made the meeting _so _deliciously boring…"

He dug a hand into his right trouser pocket. When he pulled it out, he was holding a mobile phone. Molly knew exactly that it was not his own.

"I needed the man alive. And I needed _this. _Two and two makes…" Jim shrugged, "it doesn't really matter does it? It shouldn't really matter to you."

His eyes swivelled towards the large windows by him.

"It's almost Christmas, isn't it?" he mused.

Molly nodded weakly, "Three days."

"Hm," Jim glanced away, "How time passes. It must feel awfully odd how everything _just _passes without you even noticing the change…"

His eyes were on her. There was a silent swap of thoughts between them as Molly looked safely towards the snow.

When she looked back, Jim was inspecting his face. As he did, momentary flashes of pain crossed his features. They didn't stay but Molly noticed them. She knew that he was annoyed by it. He was annoyed by pain. He was the man of control; biological reactions were something that was beyond his skills.

And it annoyed him.

"I'll make tea if you like," she murmured as his attention averted towards her. His expression was unmoving for a moment before he gently nodded.

After Molly arranged Jim's tea set - a teapot, green tea, biscuits etc. - she left.

* * *

><p>She came home to Sebastian smoking by the patio. "Jim got beaten up," she told him, rather uncertain as he turned his head towards her.<p>

A grimace was on his lips."Was it bloody?" He asked.

"A little bit."

There was a pause as Sebastian crushed his cigarette beneath the slush of snow. Molly eyed her feet as a request bubbled from the pit of her throat. It took a few seconds for her to blurt it out, "Should you go check on him?" she pressed, "It's…quite nasty."

The tall man chuckled loudly. "Don't be stupid Hooper," he voiced, "With stuff like this. He fixes it up himself."

"But he…can't." Molly interposed, rubbing the side of her head, "Not properly."

Sebastian was staring at her now, exploring the overtones in her words. "You be careful, Hooper. Alright?" he told her, eyes swaying over her shoulder, "_Don't _fuss yourself with stuff like this. He is a proper piece of good _shit _sometimes. But don't get…attached."

_Attached._ She could feel the sniper's stare digging into her. It was clear that he was implying something; _goading._ Molly wasn't sure whether she should be irritated, mortified or embarrassed. "I'm not," she told him firmly, eyes on the floor, "I'm not."

Sebastian pursed his lips as he lit another cigarette.

"If you say so." He remarked, glancing at her balled fists.

* * *

><p>Humming an airy section of Mozart's <em>Requiem<em>, Sebastian strolled into his kitchen. The first thing he saw was her on the floor. _Aha._ It was only seven in the morning and _already _his day was fucking made.

"The food's in the fridge Hooper. No need to steal from my dog." He retorted with just a _hint _of amusement.

Crouched on the floor, holding Shakespeare's dog bowl, Molly groaned as Sebastian entered with a wide smirk on his face. "I know," she sighed, "I'm just putting this in a different place. Shelley keeps _stealing _Shakespeare's food_. _It's… bizarre. I didn't even know cats liked dog food… anyway, your poor dog keeps missing meals so I have to move it…"

Molly glanced towards Shelley who was circling Sebastian like a hawk. _Another _bizarre fact – the cat appeared to have an unexplainable attachment to the sniper. It was difficult not to feel unloved when it was clear that Shelley liked the man more.

Standing up, Molly brushed down her sleeves as she passed the tall man a bright smile.

"Happy Christmas, Sebastian."

As he normally did, the sniper returned the kind gesture with an unfeeling and mildly-sarcastic physical response.

This time it was a thumbs-up.

"Do you think I should…see Jim?" Molly mumbled, knowing how he'd been absent from all conversations since the events of two days ago, "It is…still Code Black."

"Yeah…sure," he replied, "just make sure you get some milk when you get back this time."

* * *

><p>His face was recovering.<p>

Molly had taken Sebastian's post in checking-on-Jim-for-Christmas to allow the sniper a few hours of peace. She had entered quietly and spotted the owner of the flat, sat on the couch with a newspaper on his lap. He didn't look up to greet her until she had sat across him. When he raised his face, she examined him - his bruises had lingered but the scratches had mostly faded. His body had not done a bad job. She looked down at what he was scribbling on and thought that it was a crossword. However, it eventually became clear to her that it was a Sudoku puzzle.

"It's cold, today isn't it?" Jim told her, tapping his pencil against the paper.

"Yes." Molly nodded.

"I thought so."

His eyes were murky as he settled back into his work.

Molly watched him, unable to move. She found herself insatiably comforted by the warm fire and the scratching of his pencil. Leaning forwards, she grabbed a copy of the _Lancet _from the surface of the coffee table and began to read. Jim was an avid subscriber of journals; there were lots piled on top of each other in various places in the flat. Naturally, they were all scientific.

Reading through an article about CHD, Molly began to absently hum – a habit that seemed to transpire in the worst of situations. She was humming the 'Twelve Days of Christmas' and got to the fourth day before she realized. Once she lowered her journal, her face was bright pink and Jim was staring at her blankly.

She was frozen. And then he laughed.

He _laughed. _It was the first time she heard him laugh and _believe _he was laughing because it was funny. Not, because he was sarcastic. Lying. Or doing it to _wound. _The sound was awkward, goofy and different to even Jim-from-IT's laugh. He couldn't compose himself and continued laughing for another few seconds. Molly was entirely trumped and just sat, watching him.

"Oh, Molly," he uttered, breathless, "_Please _don't make me ever want to kill you."

In Jim's dictionary, that probably translated to something less ominous. It did cause a slight rise in her heart rate – but the peak of it had come when he laughed. There was something satisfying about pleasing him. _He's alright when he isn't crazy. _No_. Definite no. _Molly knew that she was treading on very dangerous borders when she thought about Jim and how he was when he wasn't crazy. Why? Because there was a fine line between things and the line between her and Jim had to stay. It couldn't ever blur.

Otherwise, she would be drawn into his laugh, the accent and the fact that he thought that _pi _was the "sexiest" value in Mathematics.

Eyes peering through the distance between them, Molly expressed a deep sigh.

He heard it. "Cheer up, buttercup." He chimed, eyes examining her closely, "That's what they used to say to me. When I looked unhappy…"

A smile formed on Molly's lips. "That's nice," she nodded.

"Don't look so unhappy," He murmured.

"Oh, but I'm always a little unhappy," she shrugged.

Jim pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"I know," he responded, "I _watched _you. The girl with the cat and the nose and the two-left feet." His gaze lowered a little, "I don't think you provided yourself with much of a life out there. So pathetic on the outside…so _drearily_ normal…but you aren't. _That's _why I took you." Jim paused again, face still, "You understand that, don't you?"

She blinked at him, "No… I didn't understand that."

"Well…now you do." He tilted his head at her as he leaned forwards and lifted his wine glass up for a toast, "Merry Christmas Mollybear."

_'Don't fuss yourself with stuff like this. He is a proper piece of good shit sometimes. But don't get…attached.' _Sebastian's voice told her as she stared at him, breaths receding slowly. She told herself to remember the line between them. _Don't blur your line__. _But as the wine glass beckoned, Molly found the voices inside her mind slipping away into oblivion.

"Merry Christmas," she smiled softly, "Jim-from-IT."

And just like that, she knew she had scrubbed their line clean.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ****Again, thanks for reading. Just a summary of what to expect for III - the first few chapters are going to be unrelated snippets of life. If you have a burning prompt, just PM and I'll look over it :) I haven't finalized how long this section is going to be anyway. I'm fascinated by the concept of seeing the characters in a "normal" environment, so yes. Take care guys! **

**According to the Earth Calendar - It is Waffle Day in Sweden! So, happy Waffle Day everyone!***

_*yes this is Lou shamelessly attempting to make up for the holiday wishes she had missed to give from her previous updates._


	22. Section III: Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

><p>As a morgue attendant, Molly had been very good at her job. But this wasn't because she had been breathtakinglyskilled with the handling of the corpses. No, it was because she possessed the talent of picking things up quite quickly. There was something in her brain that once stimulated allowed for an ability to absorb knowledge senselessly. This was the only reason why she had managed to knuckle near-hundred percent in most of her exams in university. Of course, there were exceptions (like her initial training with guns) but she had found that once she performed it well once – things generally became easier.<p>

This was what essentially made her a very good employee.

Working for Jim, there was very little she could say. The jobs were inconsistent and for the most part, they involved deliveries and collections. She would be given coordinates to travel to and all she had to do was pick up a package. They were relatively dull and this was what made her so cautious. After her first "job" in Turin, it seemed that everything she had been given since then had been _safe. _

It resembled the uneasy calm before a very turbulent storm.

* * *

><p>But there was work that required more than Molly's reading skills. She assisted mainly because everything about completing the tasks relied on assistance. The first had been an isolated murder with Adelaide; a murder that had been requested for an unfaithful husband by a very resentful wife. The whole thing had felt dramatic from the get-go. After all, the woman had stated in her plea how she had desired for her husband to be '<em>bathed in humiliation and in the blood of the whores he sleeps with'<em>. Even to Sebastian (who had found the case brilliantly amusing), the sentence had been unnerving.

It was the first time Molly had been on a case with Adelaide. The whole thing had to be filmed (again to the wishes of the resentful spouse) and took place in a small hotel room in France where the man worked as an engineer. Adelaide had posed as a stripper – meagrely dressed and drunkenly outlandish – while Molly had stayed, tucked in the van to ensure everything was filmed. Within two minutes Adelaide had leapt onto the man's knees, pinned him flat on the bed and _there _the kill was executed. It was done promptly; right on schedule in fact. It had taken two knives hidden in Adelaide's shoes and a sharp jut through the chest and the jugular.

_He had no chance._

Molly watched it all. Adelaide had stayed on top of him, indifferent as the figure below her writhed in agony. When eventually the man stopped struggling; the woman retrieved her knives, flexed her hands and left the room.

It did upset her. And Molly had wanted to say something. But when Adelaide entered the van, chewing gum and grinning about getting pastries – something clicked in Molly's head. It muffled her nausea – it stopped her from saying anything. She drove forwards to the shrieking tune of '_Walk this way' _as she reminded herself of Adelaide's casualness; of her flippancy; of her sheer offhandedness to murder. Molly had to be like her. Molly had to be _exactly _like her.

It was the key to survival.

* * *

><p>The next job she had been given was a prison break. A couple of wealthy parents willing for a "supposedly-wrongly-accused" son to be retrieved. It had been the first chance she had of meeting Jim's more freelance employees. Richard Hobbs and Warren Matthers; the latter she had already met as the Manchester-born sniper addressed to Jim when he had been beaten. They were simply referred to as 'Matthers &amp; Hobbs' (like the Ben &amp; Jerry's of the criminal verse) or (to Sebastian) "the ambiguously gay duo."<p>

It didn't take long for Molly to understand _why _it was that Sebastian found this title so fitting. The men were polar opposites; divided in appearance and personality. She observed that while Matthers retained an aspect of solemnity in his character, Hobbs emitted a ridiculously _campy _vibe that balanced the equation. They were like chalk and cheese; while one was tall, lanky and dark – the other was stocky, blonde and burly. From what Molly had observed about them, they possessed a healthy working relationship that was founded on instinct, respect and genuine affection for each other.

It was cute really.

"Alright Mole – are you ready?"

Molly wasn't sure if she liked Hobbs' nickname for her but nodded anyway as she kept an eye at the door, holding her taser shakily with one hand. "Yep, ready." Her eyes drifted to the clock that hung on the wall on her right. The plan had specified that they had a ten minute window – they had spent a good six minutes already. "Rich," she told him, "I think we need to get him out now."

"It's getting there and… _boom_—"

Molly blinked as the first notes of Elvis' '_Jailhouse Rock' _blasted out from the speakers above her.

_'The warden threw a party in the county jail-"_

She turned, mortified as her eyes focused on the security monitors. All of the prison doors were now open –spurring an instant flood of identically-dressed figures through the corridors. Some of the prisoners were dancing – some waved to the cameras, evidently confused – but the majority had clearly sensed the opportunity and were proposing trouble. "C'mon Moley!" Hobbs chirped, dragging her by the hand as they dashed down the pitch black hall in front of them, "—_everybody in the whole cell block, was dancing to the jailhouse rock_ –"

They exited. An instant flush of sunlight. "They're going to kill each other in there," she murmured as her eyes averted towards Matthers who was holding the man they had come to salvage. Hobbs was beside her, probably texting Sebastian to inform him that the job was completed. A few hours later, after they had transported the prisoner to a checkpoint, Molly had asked Hobbs if it had been necessary to include Elvis. In her mind, it had seemed unwarranted. Despite the fact that it had Jim's-showman-signature all over it.

"It's the boss, not us. It's in the plan, see. Jailhouse Rock – or _Footloose _apparently if we really couldn't get a copy," a smile was on the man's face as he flipped up his collar absently, "—look Mole. This is the type of stuff that gets onto _YouTube. _You know? The boss likes a show… it's not our thing."

"And you're okay with that?" Molly asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Hobbs shrugged, "if that's what gets the boss going; who are we to complain eh?"

Molly agreed with him. Who were they to complain? But she had seen something in him. A sense of defeat – of being powerless. She knew he didn't question it because he was used to it. There was the aspect of fear as well. The pair had executed the job almost sharply to the schedule; give or take a minute. Everything had been done - ticked off and double-checked. Inside, she had felt the fear too. Jim's watchful eye.

The concept of failure with Jim was barely a concept at all.

"Go hard or go home," Hobbs mumbled as he noted the meditative look in her eyes, "It's what that arsehole, Moran's _tattooed _in our brains."

Molly smiled.

* * *

><p>She would be lying if she said that her jobs with the <em>arsehole <em>were not enjoyable.

It wasn't because sniping was gratifying; it was an utterly remorseless career. However, Molly identified that shooting was where her skills had blossomed the most. And it was where she felt least hopeless. Even Sebastian had stipulated that she had improved – he even took her hunting the previous week. Of course, Molly had just ended up hypothermic in the hills. But she had a nimble hand when it came to guns now; an unsightly confidence which probably benefited her in more ways than she imagined.

Her most recent sniping job was into the early depths of the night. It was freezing and it was ten minutes until her target was to leave work.

"Oh god, Sebastian… I forgot to give you back your iPod." _Darn. _She had held onto it for him when they left the car.

There was a deep sigh over the earpiece. _'Fine,_ –' Sebastian grumbled, '_just keep it safe will you. Only ten minutes. Don't drop it.' _

"I won't." Holding the object like it was a piece of gold, Molly couldn't help but feel special. The object was glorified; it was Sebastian's _wingman _– every time she thought of him, it was associated. They were like a pair. And Molly knew how much trouble she was in considering that Sebastian had previously stated that his iPod had been the only way he had ever _endured_ arduously boring sniper jobs.

Unable to stop herself, she turned it on. Now, Molly had never owned one of these. It would seem that there was a common pact that came with becoming Jim's employee. Parting from subjecting yourself to constant mental persecution, an individual musical taste was also required. From what Molly had observed, Sebastian was the posh-classical – Adelaide was the strapping-rock-empress – Charlie was quite unruffled about the concept of music – Matthers really hated music while Hobbs adored pop _(_more specifically _Rihanna _as she had been coerced into listening to him sing _'Umbrella' _non-stop during the ferry-ride home). If Molly had owned an iPod, she wondered what music she would have bought for it. In her mind, it would have probably been filled with musical-soundtracks, jazz and the occasional chart-single.

Oh and a _lot _of Kylie Minogue.

"You have a playlist for _shooting_?" Molly blurted out out as she found herself on the playlist section of the device.

There came another trite sigh. '_Snoop more,' _Sebastian uttered bitterly, '_you'll find I'm extremely specific_.'

And he was. Molly found that the playlist for shooting lead to smaller playlists itemized from: 'sniping,' 'hunting', 'foreign-sniping', 'multiple sniping' etc. There were others that were unnamed and some more colourfully titled such as: 'listen-when-fucking-bored' and 'listen-when-probably-fucked'. Molly had chuckled a little as Wagner's infamous _'Flight of the Valkyries' _had been on top of that song list.

By this time, the targets were in motion and it was Molly's turn to snipe. Taking a deep breath, she pressed Sebastian's headphones into her ear (she figured she would never have this blessed chance again) and selected a piece.

'_Your turn Hooper.' _Sebastian huffed over the line, '_hurry up. We've got a train to catch in seven minutes.'_

She performed the job quite quickly; serenaded by the sweet, sharp sound of Mozart's Requiem's _Dies Irae._

* * *

><p>It was work that made Molly belong. She found an unbelievable sense of vigour when she assisted in jobs. It was different to the way she had felt in the morgue where she had ended up working with two of the dullest people alive. Her two colleagues – Martha Hart and Bobby Carr – had been working in Barts for decades and had a relationship that could have only resembled a stale, sexless marriage. She had been the newbie; the girl who they completely ignored for almost six years. This sense of fitting in was new to her. But it was addicting. Everything. From the workload, the travelling - but most importantly, the employees.<p>

The way that Sebastian would occasionally slip and call her Molly; the way that Adelaide would grab her arm and fawn over the new _Henry Cavill _poster; the way that she possessed a purpose. She was _helping. _It gave her objective – something she had never felt in the past despite loving her job as a morgue technician.

In many ways, it made her feel less monstrous.

Less alone.

* * *

><p>Despite the sheer amount of work that Sebastian had for employees, Molly found that she still spent plenty of time in Dublin; more expressly, time with Jim.<p>

Molly wasn't sure whether she enjoyed her time with the Irish man. Every time she was with him, he was always _gentle. _Or perhaps a better description would be – _less volatile. _He rarely talked like a madman now; in fact the majority of their conversations relied on mathematics or science. There were even times when she would visit and she would say absolutely nothing.

Jim really liked company; even if it was silent. She didn't like to admit it but she had days where she liked being with him. He was gripping in a terrifying way; so changeable that it was fascinating. However, what was most attractive was how intelligent he was. Molly was constantly awed by how much his intellectual strengths stretched. He was so clever; and he had the academic wit to match. In his less-volatile state, Molly knew it was his harmlessness that made him dangerous for her. It was this stark concept of _attachment. _Luckily, he always changed.

And by doing so, he never allowed her to get close.

Today, he was in his pyjamas. Quiet and solemn. He hadn't spoken in over twenty minutes and all Molly had done was stare curiously at the pile of _Harry Potter _books on his coffee table. "I'm hungry," was his first words as he turned away from the window and hovered over to her, "—did you bring food?"

_I really liked the seventh book. Especially when Mrs Weasley killed that bitch, Bellatrix_—"Wait, what?" Snapping out of her reverie, Molly looked up, "Food? Oh… no, I didn't. I swear I just shopped for you a week ago…" The words died. Jim probably ate nothing. He rarely had appetite. Considering that he was a vegetarian and everything she had bought him was fresh fruit and vegetables, she assumed that everything had expired now.

"I'm hungry," he repeated, "and we need to have a word."

A little taken by the sight of Jim's tangled hair, Molly swallowed and shook her head for the umpteenth time. "Uh," she wasn't particularly good at being spontaneous but something she had said to Shakespeare this morning (she had now earned a habit of talking to the dog when no-one else was in the house) rung bells in her mind, "—if I go down to the flat; I could make you sugar cookies."

"Sugar cookies," Jim's face was expressionless, "Sure. That would do."

* * *

><p>It didn't. The moment Molly began preparation, she knew instantly that the sugar cookies would not do. The man had a strong sugar tooth but she had the spare inkling that cookies were not his area. This said, Jim watched her intently as she pushed everything into the bowl. Sugar cookies were the only things she had ever learnt to bake. It was the specialty of her Dad who never had very much in his cupboards and learnt to cook with the barest of recipes; she had learnt it at eight years old, just months after her parents' divorce. <em>'The trick Moll<em>,' her dad would have said, '_is to not rush through it; doing things right takes time.' _

Her eyes flickered up into his. He was still watching. She wondered if he was ensuring that she didn't slip poison into the raw batter. It took a few seconds of thought to snub this idea. He was thinking. It must have to do with the word he had wanted with her. "What was it that you wanted to say?" Molly mumbled quietly, conscious of his movements as she continued to stir the cookie batter, "You said you wanted a word."

"Oh," Jim looked up as if he'd just glided out of a long day-dream, "Right, yes a word." There was silence as the blankness in his eyes returned. This gave Molly enough time to wonder next what it was that he wanted to say. Already she knew that it couldn't be about work; now she knew that _genuine _work was always gained through Sebastian. This only gave her cause for concern. Already her craving for cookies had dissipated. Molly stirred, pulse beginning to rise. She eyed his face closely as he looked up again.

Two days, her mind murmured. _Two days since he last closed those eyes. _"I have something for you to do for me," Jim told her as he bit his lower lip absently, dark eyes flitting across the room like a swerving fly, "Tomorrow. Or tonight… if we're fortunate."

A string of swear-words chattered through Molly's thoughts. Already she could feel her hand begin to shake as the batter in the bowl gradually ost its texture.

"You mean… like a job?" she innocently posed.

"_Noooo_," he answered with a casual shrug, "more like a request."

"Oh," Molly stopped folding the mixture. She looked up, eyes barely able to straighten. Whatever it was, she knew it wasn't good. She knew it couldn't possibly be good. "What… what kind of something?" As if seeking comfort, her hands began to whisk the batter again, "Is it optional?"

Jim smiled toothily.

"Just a request for me; details are hazy. But," he paused, smiling with just an _inch _of irony, "It shouldn't be a problem."

He stopped talking – probably because he realized that she was inches from hyperventilation. Returning to his original position, Jim's initial smile had all but faded. His face was straight; alarming in its lack of emotion. Molly could feel the heat of his words ring in her mind. Unable to continue, she lowered the mixing bowl on the table and stared at him.

"Jim," she mumbled_._

"I love it when you say my name like that," Jim uttered as he drummed fingers on the worktop, "So _affectionate._" His eyes then centred on a spot on the floor. Correspondingly, Molly's eyes looked away.

She should have said something. _Anything _to gain information. However, Molly was taken by the expression on Jim's face that clearly didn't want to talk. She knew it was business and it was rare that he would ever talk about that.

Emotionless, she sighed.

"Oh, don't worry." He told her, gaze still diverted, "I've got everything under control."

"Okay."

Weakly, Molly watched his fingers drumming on the worktop. It always had the same rhythm - like an absent, habitual twitch. His other hand was on his face, rubbing his eyes. Up close, he looked exhaustedly grey.

She would have felt sorry for him. But knowing what sympathy may lead to, Molly finished the cookies in silence. It was half seven in the evening now. She should probably get home. It was almost time to feed the pets. _Sebastian would probably want his egg-fried rice microwaved too. _Through these thoughts, Molly never noticed Jim watching her.

He stared, guardedly noting her every move.

There was a mess he had to fix; she was in his toolbox. The fortunate thing was that he had _everything _under control.

And all she had to do was play her part.

* * *

><p><strong>20:01<strong>

**Trade scheduled for 21:05. Get her ready.**

Sebastian's eyes flickered down at the text as he sipped his tea quietly. She had been preparing her dinner for a good fifteen minutes now; the oven-baked pie a good distraction. He chewed the bottom of his lip quietly as he slipped out of the kitchen, one hand tapping away a reply.

**20:04**

**Received; but, what if I ask her and she says no?**

It was an uncharacteristic response from the sniper who normally followed orders with no question. He had an obedience that could outclass even the best-trained; it was the feature of his character that made him so integral to the boss. Out of everyone, he would be the most likely to leap off a sodding tower for the bloke. This said, there were times where he questioned the Irish man. More often than not, his qualms were overlooked. This was one of those times.

**20:06**

**I never instructed for you to ask.**

Rolling his tongue inside his cheek, Sebastian pursed his lips together and nodded. It was a decision made and firmed. He was in no position to complain.

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes after receiving his order, Sebastian sauntered forwards and gagged an unsuspecting Molly Hooper.<p>

She squirmed and struggled as he secured the strap over her mouth, barely flinching. "Alright Hooper," he barked, pressing her against the wall as he then bound her hands behind her back, "—the more you get difficult; the longer this is going to take us." It was irritating her. Well, she had every right to considering she was being _gagged _without choice. But he knew that it was irritating he more that he was being so blasé about it. Well, it was blasé to Sebastian who had lost count as to how many people he'd had to gag over the years. It was all quite ordinary to him – a routine _chore._

Stepping back, the blonde man waited as she whipped around, shrieking beneath the cloth. Her words were muffled; fortunately. Now,_ how to explain._ "Look," he told her firmly, eyes securing hers, "you've got somewhere to be. Understand?"

She was shaking her head. The initial struggle had turned into a desperate plea. Already, he could feel his patience simmering.

"It's a job, Hooper. It's a job," Taking her harshly by the crook in her arm, he pulled her towards the door. He could sense the anxiety she was emitting. He estimated that she would be howling tearfully in about thirty seconds. "Don't… don't be so pathetic," Sebastian growled as his gaze fell and he lowered his voice, "—he's watching."

This silenced her. The sniper grimaced as they stepped out into the streets. He looked up at the black skies of Dublin. She was watching too, eyes glossy.

He figured it would probably be a good ten days before she'd see Dublin again_; _whether she'd even want to, was a seperate issue.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I changed my mind. No "unrelated-one-shots". My muse resented the idea. Instead, it decided to put on its troll-suit and put Molly in another-mentally-compromising situation. Oh, goody. It really hates human!Jim. I'm sorry. This "trade-business" will be explained by Jim in chapter three; it's not very plot-based. I just wanted to give Molly another chance to rethink her life-choices [sigh] as she's become too comfortable [according to my jealous muse.]**

**Anyway, I graciously thank you all for your lovely support!comments!well-wishes for health. This chapter took a long time [sorry!] because of time constraints.**

**I'm imploring myself to be nicer to Molly. But each section has to have my trolly muse to work with. AH. Sorry. Anyway, hoping you're having a lovely, super!safe Easter weekend. Thanks as always for reading! You're all too nice! ^_^ Oh, and the HP Books on Jim's coffee table shall be explained later in the section. If I forget to, feel free to remind me!**

**Oh and the ideas for Molly's jobs came to me in odd packages. For example, the jailbreak was brought on by a dream where I was a prisoner and literally dancing to the Jailhouse Rock. I am such an oddball. **


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